[ it's been a damn long time since she's charted territory like this: the landscape behind the kiss. peggy has grown woefully accustomed to thinking of kisses in the way a person thinks of send-offs. like waving goodbye. kisses, in her mind, are endings. not beginnings. it's strange to have taken another so soon after the first. so much so that she finds herself a little lost in thought when his words vibrate through her, felt more than heard because their skulls are tilted together.
an when she speaks, it's in a tone harder than a whisper. ]
So move.
[ while he suggests and cautions, peggy (predictably) hasn't got the patience to do the same. she'll nudge him backward -- bumping him, briefly disappearing that whisper of space between them -- until his legs hit the coffee table. and then, with a choice blaspheme, she kicks the ball of her shoe against the furniture. with a hitched breath, she shoves it aside and clears a path to the sofa on where, earlier, he'd been sitting with his rum.
peggy's fingers seize at the nape of his neck -- twitching tight just milliseconds after his mouth begins its migration across her chin. only moments later does it occur to her that they might both be better served if she didn't grip him like a grappling partner. she can feel him wobble on his feet. by contrast, her posture is steady. she leans leftward as they pass the table and grabs what's left of the whiskey, holding the bottle by the neck.
it requires sacrificing her guiding hand, the one that had nudged him along, but she hazards an easy guess that he no longer needs it. ]
no subject
an when she speaks, it's in a tone harder than a whisper. ]
So move.
[ while he suggests and cautions, peggy (predictably) hasn't got the patience to do the same. she'll nudge him backward -- bumping him, briefly disappearing that whisper of space between them -- until his legs hit the coffee table. and then, with a choice blaspheme, she kicks the ball of her shoe against the furniture. with a hitched breath, she shoves it aside and clears a path to the sofa on where, earlier, he'd been sitting with his rum.
peggy's fingers seize at the nape of his neck -- twitching tight just milliseconds after his mouth begins its migration across her chin. only moments later does it occur to her that they might both be better served if she didn't grip him like a grappling partner. she can feel him wobble on his feet. by contrast, her posture is steady. she leans leftward as they pass the table and grabs what's left of the whiskey, holding the bottle by the neck.
it requires sacrificing her guiding hand, the one that had nudged him along, but she hazards an easy guess that he no longer needs it. ]