As expected, Astrid needs no further coaxing to take what she wants. She's a simple woman, Talin knows, in the same way that he'd been a simple man before he'd joined Fen'Harel—not unintelligent, but straightforward and credulous. Liars and spies are things that happen to other people, not her.
It's going to get her hurt someday. He has half a mind to warn her about it.
Astrid's teeth graze his lip and Talin grunts, surprised, against her mouth. The little dose of pain is enough to draw him out of his thoughts, back to the woman in his lap, but it begs the question—how long has he been so lost? Has he even been kissing her properly? That it's even a question is shitty—at this rate, she's going to think he's not really into her, or that he's bad at this, and either would be fucking unacceptable.
He nips at her lip, sharp, to grab her attention, then lays his palms on her hips and pushes her up, out of his lap and onto her feet. They're only apart for a moment while he follows her up and then he closes the distance between them again, sliding his hands around her waist to bring her in for another kiss, then under her thighs to lift her up, biceps flexing. Astrid is light enough that they're not in danger of collapsing in an embarrassing heap anytime soon, and Talin smiles, wolfish and pleased with himself, against her shoulder.
Lies, ethics, the future—each is slowly lost to the satisfying strain of his muscles, the salt of her skin on his tongue. It all fades away, until all that's left is the glide of her mouth on his, and the impact of her back on a nearby tree rattling pleasantly through both of them.
no subject
It's going to get her hurt someday. He has half a mind to warn her about it.
Astrid's teeth graze his lip and Talin grunts, surprised, against her mouth. The little dose of pain is enough to draw him out of his thoughts, back to the woman in his lap, but it begs the question—how long has he been so lost? Has he even been kissing her properly? That it's even a question is shitty—at this rate, she's going to think he's not really into her, or that he's bad at this, and either would be fucking unacceptable.
He nips at her lip, sharp, to grab her attention, then lays his palms on her hips and pushes her up, out of his lap and onto her feet. They're only apart for a moment while he follows her up and then he closes the distance between them again, sliding his hands around her waist to bring her in for another kiss, then under her thighs to lift her up, biceps flexing. Astrid is light enough that they're not in danger of collapsing in an embarrassing heap anytime soon, and Talin smiles, wolfish and pleased with himself, against her shoulder.
Lies, ethics, the future—each is slowly lost to the satisfying strain of his muscles, the salt of her skin on his tongue. It all fades away, until all that's left is the glide of her mouth on his, and the impact of her back on a nearby tree rattling pleasantly through both of them.