he lifts his hand, and reaches up. alfyn's making a suggestion, and therion's not dumb - is it a line they've even crossed here? who knows. ]
I'm not 'fixin' to do anything. [ that, first, dry. his hand lands on one of the top buttons of the shirt that is just barely hanging on. ] Why. You have something in mind?
[ the hair on the back of his neck stands up, nearly, with the loose, loose touch that therion's placed right at his chest. his heart skips briefly, but it's a thrill instead of fear. for a beat, he debates on which way to go - he's so intent on making sure to respect boundaries and comfort levels where he can, pushing where he needs to, so he's assessing therion's seriousness when it comes to playing with his food right now.
his eventual decision is fuck it, and he brings his own hand up to cup therion's jaw on the side opposite his covered eye. all so he can duck in and kiss him before he loses his nerve or therion decides "haha, just kidding, medicine man." ]
this startles him - therion could poof up like a cat, actually, eyes snapping wide in surprise. but after a beat, he catches back up, mouth pulling up into a little smirk, briefly as he regains his footing and his mental balance, and he doesn't shove him back. no, the hand on his face is warm, warm and calloused and familiar, and...
...no, instead, he returns the kiss, hand fisting briefly in the front of alfyn's stupid shirt, and then pulls back - red in the ears, enough you could see it through his white hair, but you couldn't tell by his face. his hand stays there, curled.
there's a beat.
and then he kisses him again? alright fuck it if that's how we're gonna play fuck it we ball. therion mutters, though - ] If you fuck up this shirt, I'm not finding you another one.
[ a small part of alfyn thinks a little thought of y'know, therion could deck me, and i wouldn't be surprised, the moment he pulls back. the grip on his shirt could either be in preparation to push him away, or to hold him there. the smirk doesn't really do much to clear things up. therion smirks sometimes regardless of mood.
but as he hesitantly peeks an eye open at him, the second one flies open after. because he sees red, a blush, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from abruptly breaking out into a stupid grin that's half delight, half victory. it'd ruin the following kiss, anyways, which he readily returns with the almost palpable essence of a tail wagging.
or pumping his fist.
murmured, against his mouth in return: ] Yeah, okay.
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he lifts his hand, and reaches up. alfyn's making a suggestion, and therion's not dumb - is it a line they've even crossed here? who knows. ]
I'm not 'fixin' to do anything. [ that, first, dry. his hand lands on one of the top buttons of the shirt that is just barely hanging on. ] Why. You have something in mind?
no subject
his eventual decision is fuck it, and he brings his own hand up to cup therion's jaw on the side opposite his covered eye. all so he can duck in and kiss him before he loses his nerve or therion decides "haha, just kidding, medicine man." ]
no subject
this startles him - therion could poof up like a cat, actually, eyes snapping wide in surprise. but after a beat, he catches back up, mouth pulling up into a little smirk, briefly as he regains his footing and his mental balance, and he doesn't shove him back. no, the hand on his face is warm, warm and calloused and familiar, and...
...no, instead, he returns the kiss, hand fisting briefly in the front of alfyn's stupid shirt, and then pulls back - red in the ears, enough you could see it through his white hair, but you couldn't tell by his face. his hand stays there, curled.
there's a beat.
and then he kisses him again? alright fuck it if that's how we're gonna play fuck it we ball. therion mutters, though - ] If you fuck up this shirt, I'm not finding you another one.
no subject
but as he hesitantly peeks an eye open at him, the second one flies open after. because he sees red, a blush, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from abruptly breaking out into a stupid grin that's half delight, half victory. it'd ruin the following kiss, anyways, which he readily returns with the almost palpable essence of a tail wagging.
or pumping his fist.
murmured, against his mouth in return: ] Yeah, okay.
[ shirt what shirt ]