[ how did they even get there? what happened an hour ago-- or even five minutes ago? he has no clue, honestly, and he's not even paying particular attention to the background, to the room. he just knows that his mouth is on hers, and his body is pinning hers against the wall.
who she is isn't even really that important. his hands press against her hips, fingers pulling firmly against her shirt, to start to lift it up. the instinct to do so is automatic, propelled by instinct, and the feeling that they'd had some sort of conversation leading up to this.
he wasn't about to pause and ask her who she was, or make sure he'd introduced himself.
instead, he presses his advantage, tongue running along her lips. he feels like he's done this a million times before, but he can't quite place how or why. just that he knows what to do in this case-- with her. A pleasant sense of deja vu, when his motor is already running on hot.]
[ nancy's lifting her arms so he can tug her shirt off in one smooth motion, and she doesn't even question it. she briefly recognizes that she doesn't recognize the man in front of her, and that the way he's kissing her isn't familiar, but it doesn't seem to matter. the only thing that really matters is that he's keeping her on her toes, making it hard to keep up, and there's a certain thrill to that. she shifts against the wall, like maybe she plans on trying to change their positions, but his grip on her is hard enough to make her whine, in a totally undignified way that makes it obvious she likes it.
the bed is close, and she really doesn't know how she knows that, but she presses against him like she wants to peel herself from the wall and push him that way, even if she's not sure how she'll manage it. or if he'll let her ( isn't that thrilling? ). ]
Come on.
[ her impatience makes her laugh, squirming again in his grip because she wants to move away from the wall but she also wants to stay pinned to the wall and it's hard to make up her mind so she'll just whine and let him decide instead ]
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no subject
who she is isn't even really that important. his hands press against her hips, fingers pulling firmly against her shirt, to start to lift it up. the instinct to do so is automatic, propelled by instinct, and the feeling that they'd had some sort of conversation leading up to this.
he wasn't about to pause and ask her who she was, or make sure he'd introduced himself.
instead, he presses his advantage, tongue running along her lips. he feels like he's done this a million times before, but he can't quite place how or why. just that he knows what to do in this case-- with her. A pleasant sense of deja vu, when his motor is already running on hot.]
no subject
the bed is close, and she really doesn't know how she knows that, but she presses against him like she wants to peel herself from the wall and push him that way, even if she's not sure how she'll manage it. or if he'll let her ( isn't that thrilling? ). ]
Come on.
[ her impatience makes her laugh, squirming again in his grip because she wants to move away from the wall but she also wants to stay pinned to the wall and it's hard to make up her mind so she'll just whine and let him decide instead ]