[ True to form, he just can't stop. It's almost impeccable. Though she cannot say she understands the full swing of his rambling, there's a certain lyrical crispness to it beneath the fyrric fugue, stream of conscious fully formed and finely honed by the time it spills off the end of his tongue. Like the business edge of a blade kept sharp, kept so for his work. ]
An everyman's jester in a portable court, [ she muses at the tail of it all, voice warmed with amusement ever threatening to overflow. ] I am sure they could not get enough. Perhaps if I had been permitted to prattle on the job, we could have been kindred spirits.
[ The implication that follows is about as subtle as a brick, but the act itself still manages to catch her off guard, to the point that her appropriately closed lids flutter as lips press up to meet hers. They meet a still-lingering smile at first, one that doesn't have long to gather its wits before they're drawn away once again, leaving her own parted with curious surprise. At the knowing crossroads of took you long enough, and the snagging thought that he would bother at all. ]
[ But fool her twice, Sandra's wits return quick enough to let out a snicker, letting her free hand mimic his in taking the side of his face. Her thumb brushes the corner of that motor mouth of his, as sensual as it is triangulating. As if his softest kiss could put a chip in the pane of their reservations, the lax of the herbal high coursing through her seems to warp it further—coaxing, at last, a reach for such simple pleasantries she had written off for centuries. ]
I do suppose too much of a good thing is wisdom well documented. [ A put upon sigh, before she sets about shutting him up. A longer, fuller kiss, lent by her vantage and by his behest, devoid of hesitation but modest enough to continue her train of thought as she draws away. ] Though I cannot say I believe you would last long through any sort of silence without bursting,
[ Her fingers splay beneath his against his chest, taking a sliver of her weight as she shifts over him. ]
There is always the possibility that you could surprise me.
no subject
An everyman's jester in a portable court, [ she muses at the tail of it all, voice warmed with amusement ever threatening to overflow. ] I am sure they could not get enough. Perhaps if I had been permitted to prattle on the job, we could have been kindred spirits.
[ The implication that follows is about as subtle as a brick, but the act itself still manages to catch her off guard, to the point that her appropriately closed lids flutter as lips press up to meet hers. They meet a still-lingering smile at first, one that doesn't have long to gather its wits before they're drawn away once again, leaving her own parted with curious surprise. At the knowing crossroads of took you long enough, and the snagging thought that he would bother at all. ]
[ But fool her twice, Sandra's wits return quick enough to let out a snicker, letting her free hand mimic his in taking the side of his face. Her thumb brushes the corner of that motor mouth of his, as sensual as it is triangulating. As if his softest kiss could put a chip in the pane of their reservations, the lax of the herbal high coursing through her seems to warp it further—coaxing, at last, a reach for such simple pleasantries she had written off for centuries. ]
I do suppose too much of a good thing is wisdom well documented. [ A put upon sigh, before she sets about shutting him up. A longer, fuller kiss, lent by her vantage and by his behest, devoid of hesitation but modest enough to continue her train of thought as she draws away. ] Though I cannot say I believe you would last long through any sort of silence without bursting,
[ Her fingers splay beneath his against his chest, taking a sliver of her weight as she shifts over him. ]
There is always the possibility that you could surprise me.