[ She leans that little further again, and that is perhaps a measure of asking, when she kisses him again, to draw his head up so she could look at him. Have him look at her and not turn himself in. This is more than just a brush - could be sure now. One kiss that follows another and another in a nuzzle of affection, easy given wanting so that he cannot mistake her on that. Warm as her mouth opens against his, half leant into him. Yanks hard at herself to pull back, close as a breath and taking them hard as she swallows to speak. The warmth of his mouth is richer than liquor, easier to get drunk off than the mead. Kept, just so barely. Like it takes everything for that alone. ]
no subject
Will you look at me?