[But it is when the person you're kissing doesn't want it...!
He mutters something else, but God knows what it was. There's no attempt to pull away, no effort to sound intelligible at all — he's as focused right now as he'd be in a courtroom, attentive and quick and constantly moving. He kisses a light trail across her jaw and tries for her mouth again, lips barely touching hers for a few seconds before he caves and leans back in.]
[That's really distracting; her breath hitches a little in her chest, fingers curling tighter in his shirt, and for a while she doesn't think about anything but kissing him.
Last chance, he said, so she's just - going to take that last chance, and enjoy it, and then they can be done with whatever the hell they think this is.]
[He's returning a favor — she distracted him from a panic attack, he's distracting her from what he'd call impending disaster. It's a dramatic thought, sure, but Stephanie's been treating it that way, and what can he say? He's sensitive, when it comes to her. A little too tuned in.
But right now, that's not such a bad thing. It's what has him responding as carefully as he is, matching her kiss for kiss, accommodating her at every angle, fingertips now skimming just barely underneath the damp hem of her sweater only a fraction as eagerly as he'd like.]
[Sometimes she's glad that she's made some really fucking terrible decisions in her life, so that she can look at things like this and console herself with the fact that at least it's not the stupidest thing she's ever done.
It's up there, definitely, but not as bad as accidentally starting a gang war.
Using her grip on his shirt to pull him closer - as if that was possible - is probably higher up on the list than kissing him in the first place, but she's having a hard time caring. It's a good kiss, which... isn't as surprising as she might have thought, but that just makes it harder to remember why this is a stupid decision, why she shouldn't be up on tip toes to kiss him more easily.
If she had to take a guess, she'd say this is probably in her top five bad decisions, especially when a part of her thoughts are trying to remind her they're not exactly somewhere private. She's just praying Helena doesn't leave for patrol any time soon.]
[She's thinking too much. Maybe Saul will have a moment like this later, where he laughs about the whole thing having happened at all and feels not smug satisfaction over it, but something a little deeper. So maybe this is all going to backfire. Maybe it won't solve anything; whatever. Right now, though, he's lost to concentration and something else, the combination of which has him shift the hand teasing under her shirt a little higher.
Her attempt at pulling him closer ushers a huff of breath, and next thing he knows the hand that was tangled in her hair has moved, too — down, this time, to hook a finger into the pocket of her jeans.
That's when he has the same thought: they should relocate, maybe. Just in case.
He breaks the kiss, briefly focuses his attention on her earlobe, then whispers:] We should move.
[The stupidity of her decisions aside, Steph is smart enough to realize this is a really important decision, right now. It doesn't take a genuis to figure out where this is likely to go if she goes back to his apartment.]
Saul. [Breathing is a little tricky, but she reminds herself to inhale, even if it's a bit shaky.] I shouldn't. We shouldn't.
[Not move, more just this in general, whatever the hell it is.]
[She's right. But they shouldn't have started this in the first place and they did anyway, so...
He bumps his nose against her cheek, then kisses her again. If she doesn't want to go anywhere, that's fine, but that means he's not going anywhere, either. Not until she tells him to.
And he really hopes she doesn't, because he's pretty sure he'd be content to stay like this — kissing her and touching her and not giving a damn — for a while.]
[Okay, okay fine, that's - not going anyhere, which at least isn't a step in the wrong direction. Literally. It's just kissing, and his hand under her shirt and one of her hands sliding up from his shirt to curl around the back of his neck, but that's fine, it's not the end of the world.
It'd be really nice if she could just switch her brain off.]
His other hand eventually finds its way under her shirt, palms and fingers settling against her lower back. She's warm; it's nice. He should be used to standing around in the rain by now, used to the relentless wet chill in the air, but he's been missing Albuquerque something fierce.
This would be so perfect, if they were back there. But he'll settle for almost.]
[There's a brief moment of tension when his hand settles against her back, an automatic reaction to people touching her when she's so paranoid about her scars, but she relaxes after a second.
She wonders if justifying this as getting it out of her system is actually going to make her feel less guilty. More important, she's wondering if this is even going to work at getting it out of her system, or if giving in just a little will make things even worse.
And consoling herself with the fact that at least she didn't agree to going somewhere more private isn't actually helping the fact that she's still kissing him and doesn't really want to stop.]
[He'd forgotten about the scars. Maybe because he only saw them for a second before she slid her shirt on back in the infirmary that day, but as soon as he feels the smooth, raised lines, the memory returns — and with it comes everything else all over again, so maybe that's why he's suddenly kissing her a little more deeply, holding — pressing, more like — her closer still.
It's not at all subtle, the way he's switching between what feels like wanting her and needing her. The pattern keeps changing as he tries to get the image of her in that hospital bed out of his mind: hungry, rushed kisses one second, followed by a trail of light kisses around her chin the next before he loops back around and catches her lips once more.
[It's not subtle at all, and Steph isn't sure quite what's happening anymore, if the sudden change in how he's kissing her is because of what she thinks. She's trying to keep up, really, but it's leaving her feeling dizzy, and when there's a break in the kisses, she tries to catch her breath.]
What-- [What's wrong? she wants to ask, but she's not sure if there really is anything wrong or if she's just imagining things or. something.] Are you okay?
[That's better, even if it feels odd to ask someone that while she's kissing them.]
[The question is so unexpected that he stops completely for a moment, which is just as well — he needs to catch his breath. But he still looks a little dazed, brows furrowed slightly as he considers what she just asked him. Of course he's okay. Why wouldn't he be okay?
He leans in again and trails his lips along her jaw, expression giving way to a grin as he mumbles:] Perfect.
[It sounds like an answer, but he actually just dismissed the question entirely and was commenting on something else: her.]
Hey. [She's not sure if it's just trying to get his attention or an admonishment because she thinks he's not taking the question seriously. She feels self conscious, now, considering the fact that he started kissing her more desperately after he touched her scars and there's part of her that wants to tell him to stop touching her, to move his hands away. It was different with Vanadi, when it felt like trading her secrets for his, the twisted marks left from a powerdrill for the cold metal under her fingertips.
This isn't like that at all, and there's a stupid part of her that thinks he'll be freaked out, even though he hasn't done anything to suggest he might.
She was going to say something more, even if she didn't know what, exactly, but she's gotten too caught up in her thoughts and just ends up sighing, somewhere between distressed and frustrated, before kissing him again, as if that will make things better.]
[There's little she can do to freak him out at this point unless she decides to freak out for whatever reason, so her sigh sends up a flag and makes him stop. He doesn't (can't, maybe) pull away completely — his hands stay where they are and he remains pressed against her, but he pauses the kissing and instead rests his forehead against hers.
When he speaks, his voice sounds soft and curious. A little concerned, too.]
[Somehow, this feels more intimate than the kissing, which is just - bad, things keep getting worse, more tangled up and confusing when she had hoped this might make it easier.
She's an idiot.]
I don't-- [She has no idea how to explain, or at least how to explain without sounding weird.] Doesn't matter.
[She knows he won't buy that, won't let it go, but she doesn't know what else to say.]
[At least she's in good company, because Saul has also just realized that things are now (probably) exponentially worse than they were ten minutes ago. But she thinks it's bad; he doesn't think anything. Good, bad — who cares? What does it matter?
Maybe his judgment is a little clouded.
He bumps noses with her, frowns a little.]
What — this? [He traces one of her scars with a fingertip, gaze flicking up to meet hers. Is that what this — Oh.
[She manages to hold his gaze for a second before she has to look away, jaw clenched tight. It'd be easier if she could nod, but that's a little tricky to do with him so close.]
Yeah. [Her voice sounds strained, but she doesn't know how to make it steadier. Maybe the ground will helpfully decide to swallow her up so she can stop existing for a little while.]
[That'd be inconvenient, if she just disappeared like that. Weird, too.
Anyway, it's not like that would be possible even if the ground did decide to do that — they'd both have to go.
Saul's not sure how to proceed. Given all she's told him, those scars could be from anything. He might be pushing it, lightly touching and exploring them the way he is, but this whole situation is nothing but pushing it. It's just a question of how far is too far.
Another kiss, soft and slow and trying to somehow be comforting, following by a questioning tilt of his head. Is this helping? Making it worse? Talk to me.]
[She's not quite breathing right again, but this time it isn't because she's distracted by kisses, but because something like panic is settling heavy in her chest. The sound she makes against the kiss is soft and pained, as her fingers scramble for his arm, gripping firmly to make him stop.]
Don't. [Her heart is beating too fast and she feels a little trapped, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to remember how to breathe.] Please stop.
[She shakes her head, trying to dismiss his apology and his alarm, even as she's pressing the back of her hand against her mouth and leaning her weight against the wall.
It takes her a moment to steady herself, but she... sort of manages, wrapping her arms protectively around her waist before she can bring herself to look at him again.]
S'okay. It's not your fault.
[It's not like she gave him a map for how to navigate the mine field of her bullshit.]
[His arms fall to his sides. There's a not-pleasant feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, that same old guilt again — he pushed it too far last time, he sent her up to the roof earlier, now this.
He reaches out like he's about to touch her arm, then draws his hand back a little too quickly.]
[She sounds a little choked, but after a few more steady breaths she manages to nod a little more convincingly.
It's a lie, but she doesn't want him to feel bad about this, when it's probably just the universe punshing her for thinking any of this wouldbe a good idea.]
He smiles. It's not amused or happy or positive in any way, but there is plenty of warmth behind it.]
Lying again, huh.
[Saul wants so desperately to to fix this, somehow. And he keeps telling himself he doesn't know what to do, but that's a lie; he just doesn't want to admit or follow through with the only real solution.
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controlledvariable) wrote2014-02-02 07:59 pm
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He mutters something else, but God knows what it was. There's no attempt to pull away, no effort to sound intelligible at all — he's as focused right now as he'd be in a courtroom, attentive and quick and constantly moving. He kisses a light trail across her jaw and tries for her mouth again, lips barely touching hers for a few seconds before he caves and leans back in.]
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Last chance, he said, so she's just - going to take that last chance, and enjoy it, and then they can be done with whatever the hell they think this is.]
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But right now, that's not such a bad thing. It's what has him responding as carefully as he is, matching her kiss for kiss, accommodating her at every angle, fingertips now skimming just barely underneath the damp hem of her sweater only a fraction as eagerly as he'd like.]
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It's up there, definitely, but not as bad as accidentally starting a gang war.
Using her grip on his shirt to pull him closer - as if that was possible - is probably higher up on the list than kissing him in the first place, but she's having a hard time caring. It's a good kiss, which... isn't as surprising as she might have thought, but that just makes it harder to remember why this is a stupid decision, why she shouldn't be up on tip toes to kiss him more easily.
If she had to take a guess, she'd say this is probably in her top five bad decisions, especially when a part of her thoughts are trying to remind her they're not exactly somewhere private. She's just praying Helena doesn't leave for patrol any time soon.]
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Her attempt at pulling him closer ushers a huff of breath, and next thing he knows the hand that was tangled in her hair has moved, too — down, this time, to hook a finger into the pocket of her jeans.
That's when he has the same thought: they should relocate, maybe. Just in case.
He breaks the kiss, briefly focuses his attention on her earlobe, then whispers:] We should move.
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Saul. [Breathing is a little tricky, but she reminds herself to inhale, even if it's a bit shaky.] I shouldn't. We shouldn't.
[Not move, more just this in general, whatever the hell it is.]
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He bumps his nose against her cheek, then kisses her again. If she doesn't want to go anywhere, that's fine, but that means he's not going anywhere, either. Not until she tells him to.
And he really hopes she doesn't, because he's pretty sure he'd be content to stay like this — kissing her and touching her and not giving a damn — for a while.]
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It'd be really nice if she could just switch her brain off.]
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Not that he minds.
His other hand eventually finds its way under her shirt, palms and fingers settling against her lower back. She's warm; it's nice. He should be used to standing around in the rain by now, used to the relentless wet chill in the air, but he's been missing Albuquerque something fierce.
This would be so perfect, if they were back there. But he'll settle for almost.]
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She wonders if justifying this as getting it out of her system is actually going to make her feel less guilty. More important, she's wondering if this is even going to work at getting it out of her system, or if giving in just a little will make things even worse.
And consoling herself with the fact that at least she didn't agree to going somewhere more private isn't actually helping the fact that she's still kissing him and doesn't really want to stop.]
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It's not at all subtle, the way he's switching between what feels like wanting her and needing her. The pattern keeps changing as he tries to get the image of her in that hospital bed out of his mind: hungry, rushed kisses one second, followed by a trail of light kisses around her chin the next before he loops back around and catches her lips once more.
Saul is in so much trouble.]
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What-- [What's wrong? she wants to ask, but she's not sure if there really is anything wrong or if she's just imagining things or. something.] Are you okay?
[That's better, even if it feels odd to ask someone that while she's kissing them.]
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He leans in again and trails his lips along her jaw, expression giving way to a grin as he mumbles:] Perfect.
[It sounds like an answer, but he actually just dismissed the question entirely and was commenting on something else: her.]
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Hey. [She's not sure if it's just trying to get his attention or an admonishment because she thinks he's not taking the question seriously. She feels self conscious, now, considering the fact that he started kissing her more desperately after he touched her scars and there's part of her that wants to tell him to stop touching her, to move his hands away. It was different with Vanadi, when it felt like trading her secrets for his, the twisted marks left from a powerdrill for the cold metal under her fingertips.
This isn't like that at all, and there's a stupid part of her that thinks he'll be freaked out, even though he hasn't done anything to suggest he might.
She was going to say something more, even if she didn't know what, exactly, but she's gotten too caught up in her thoughts and just ends up sighing, somewhere between distressed and frustrated, before kissing him again, as if that will make things better.]
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When he speaks, his voice sounds soft and curious. A little concerned, too.]
What?
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She's an idiot.]
I don't-- [She has no idea how to explain, or at least how to explain without sounding weird.] Doesn't matter.
[She knows he won't buy that, won't let it go, but she doesn't know what else to say.]
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Maybe his judgment is a little clouded.
He bumps noses with her, frowns a little.]
What — this? [He traces one of her scars with a fingertip, gaze flicking up to meet hers. Is that what this — Oh.
She noticed, huh?]
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Yeah. [Her voice sounds strained, but she doesn't know how to make it steadier. Maybe the ground will helpfully decide to swallow her up so she can stop existing for a little while.]
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Anyway, it's not like that would be possible even if the ground did decide to do that — they'd both have to go.
Saul's not sure how to proceed. Given all she's told him, those scars could be from anything. He might be pushing it, lightly touching and exploring them the way he is, but this whole situation is nothing but pushing it. It's just a question of how far is too far.
Another kiss, soft and slow and trying to somehow be comforting, following by a questioning tilt of his head. Is this helping? Making it worse? Talk to me.]
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Don't. [Her heart is beating too fast and she feels a little trapped, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to remember how to breathe.] Please stop.
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So there's his answer, then: too far.]
I — sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't — [His voice drops off there; he doesn't know how to finish that sentence.]
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It takes her a moment to steady herself, but she... sort of manages, wrapping her arms protectively around her waist before she can bring herself to look at him again.]
S'okay. It's not your fault.
[It's not like she gave him a map for how to navigate the mine field of her bullshit.]
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He reaches out like he's about to touch her arm, then draws his hand back a little too quickly.]
Are you okay?
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Yeah.
[She sounds a little choked, but after a few more steady breaths she manages to nod a little more convincingly.
It's a lie, but she doesn't want him to feel bad about this, when it's probably just the universe punshing her for thinking any of this wouldbe a good idea.]
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He smiles. It's not amused or happy or positive in any way, but there is plenty of warmth behind it.]
Lying again, huh.
[Saul wants so desperately to to fix this, somehow. And he keeps telling himself he doesn't know what to do, but that's a lie; he just doesn't want to admit or follow through with the only real solution.
He doesn't want to leave.]
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this hurts me
sorry (not counting this one in the final tally)
what was the final tally?
idk I didn't do it yet
gosh
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