[She may take offense with his beard, but Rip rather enjoys the feeling of her fingers scraping against it, how her palms press against his cheek as she slides them where she would, cupping his head and touching with almost as much fervor as the kiss itself. And certainly Rip does the same; the hands that had been about her waist traverse along her back, fingers splayed and open even as their course causes that once pristine white blouse to wrinkle under his touch. He finds himself thinking he could kiss her this way for hours--perhaps he already has, given the dizzy buzz still floating about his head when she leans her forehead against his, when Rip licks his lips for those last traces of whiskey and her left after their kiss.
Of course it's not just what they share physically that's left him light-headed; a fact reaffirmed when she throws out her wry comment.]
I suppose it should have known better then. [Words that slip out when he's preoccupied with how she brushes his hair back into place, the aloofness in her expression and that single shrug of her shoulder. By God it makes him yearn for her, and Rip leans forward to press his mouth to her throat--but only briefly. It occurs to him then, a heartbeat after his lips part against her skin, that there's something odd in what he said.
Something, something, and he leans back with a frown.]
...I really am rather drunk, aren't I? [Because the table should have known better, and he breathes out a short laugh at himself for it. Drunk and dizzy and a touch tired, yet Rip is hardly willing to give up just what he's found with Peggy now, particularly with a potential end implied for the morning. So he leans forward again, meaning to resume what he started once before, the eager exploration of her neck by way of lips and tongue and the occasional scrape of teeth.]
no subject
Of course it's not just what they share physically that's left him light-headed; a fact reaffirmed when she throws out her wry comment.]
I suppose it should have known better then. [Words that slip out when he's preoccupied with how she brushes his hair back into place, the aloofness in her expression and that single shrug of her shoulder. By God it makes him yearn for her, and Rip leans forward to press his mouth to her throat--but only briefly. It occurs to him then, a heartbeat after his lips part against her skin, that there's something odd in what he said.
Something, something, and he leans back with a frown.]
...I really am rather drunk, aren't I? [Because the table should have known better, and he breathes out a short laugh at himself for it. Drunk and dizzy and a touch tired, yet Rip is hardly willing to give up just what he's found with Peggy now, particularly with a potential end implied for the morning. So he leans forward again, meaning to resume what he started once before, the eager exploration of her neck by way of lips and tongue and the occasional scrape of teeth.]