( it’s terrible, isn’t it? to see the trap before you, but choose to walk into it anyway. his free hand finds its way to aventurine’s knee: the bait. something like a smile tugs at the corners of kirma’s mouth, but the strain in the expression speaks to how infrequently it happens. )
I dislike how charming you are.
( strong words, and yet. his tail starts waving again as their lips threaten to meet, slow and lazy. kirma knows he’s a poor liar, and an even poorer player of the game; he doesn’t have the choice to avoid it, though. especially once they’re already in his room. ignoring that he initiated this, well, he’s backed into a corner, therefore he has no choice but to follow aventurine’s lead... ?
the logic is something like that, anyway, unsound and liable to fall apart under any examination— but why do any of that when he can lean in to finish off what little space remains between them, drawing him into a kiss? this is ground they’ve already covered, and thus, easy to retread. the wide bed of a nice suite does wonders compared to the cramped bench of a confessional, besides.
beyond that, though. his hand slides further up aventurine’s thigh, but there’s a hesitance in his movements and a touch light enough to claim plausible deniability if rejected. it’s rare for him to be given free reign (or perhaps more accurately, the illusion of such) over how a situation goes, whether in the bedroom or outside of it— in truth, loathe as he is to admit it, it’s an uncomfortable feeling. perhaps in time he can grow used to it, but he certainly isn’t there now. )
no subject
I dislike how charming you are.
( strong words, and yet. his tail starts waving again as their lips threaten to meet, slow and lazy. kirma knows he’s a poor liar, and an even poorer player of the game; he doesn’t have the choice to avoid it, though. especially once they’re already in his room. ignoring that he initiated this, well, he’s backed into a corner, therefore he has no choice but to follow aventurine’s lead... ?
the logic is something like that, anyway, unsound and liable to fall apart under any examination— but why do any of that when he can lean in to finish off what little space remains between them, drawing him into a kiss? this is ground they’ve already covered, and thus, easy to retread. the wide bed of a nice suite does wonders compared to the cramped bench of a confessional, besides.
beyond that, though. his hand slides further up aventurine’s thigh, but there’s a hesitance in his movements and a touch light enough to claim plausible deniability if rejected. it’s rare for him to be given free reign (or perhaps more accurately, the illusion of such) over how a situation goes, whether in the bedroom or outside of it— in truth, loathe as he is to admit it, it’s an uncomfortable feeling. perhaps in time he can grow used to it, but he certainly isn’t there now. )