[ she's aware, on some level, where they're going. there is an inevitable end point to this kind of escalation, only one satisfactory outlet, but beyond theoretical awareness, rey doesn't have much in the way of plans — she is overwhelmed enough as it is in simply matching him point-for-point, push-for-push, keeping up with his mouth and his hands as he bleeds heat and desire through her skin with each touch. his question, too, earns a huffed noise, not quite a laugh but not a scoff either, just some half-fond exhale through her nose as her hands sprawl out over his back. ]
Do you want to stop for questions?
[ it's not a serious response, not when his mouth keeps seeking out her own, not when his hands are working the waistband of her trousers down, not when her hips are lifting to accommodate the tug of fabric over them. she isn't really offering to stop, and in truth, she doesn't want to. what she wants is to pull him as flush as she can, to soak up every inch of warmth and exhilarating desire; she wants to sate that ache of wanting that's twisting low in her belly. ]
Why are you overdressed, then?
[ her trousers in the process of being tugged down to the floor, his own still held up around his hips. she'd move to unfasten the buttons and buckles, but her hands are currently engaged in spanning out the width of his shoulder blades, committing each line of muscle and bone to memory. besides, she'd have to pull away to manage it, and she'd rather catch his lower lip between her teeth, a roll of that soft flesh and then a swipe of her tongue over the aggrieved space to soothe, eager and greedy for more without quite knowing how to ask for it. ]
no subject
Do you want to stop for questions?
[ it's not a serious response, not when his mouth keeps seeking out her own, not when his hands are working the waistband of her trousers down, not when her hips are lifting to accommodate the tug of fabric over them. she isn't really offering to stop, and in truth, she doesn't want to. what she wants is to pull him as flush as she can, to soak up every inch of warmth and exhilarating desire; she wants to sate that ache of wanting that's twisting low in her belly. ]
Why are you overdressed, then?
[ her trousers in the process of being tugged down to the floor, his own still held up around his hips. she'd move to unfasten the buttons and buckles, but her hands are currently engaged in spanning out the width of his shoulder blades, committing each line of muscle and bone to memory. besides, she'd have to pull away to manage it, and she'd rather catch his lower lip between her teeth, a roll of that soft flesh and then a swipe of her tongue over the aggrieved space to soothe, eager and greedy for more without quite knowing how to ask for it. ]