Re: In-person: Sam & Cris
[It's different, yeah? This. Even without getting how, and without having words for it, she gets it. Maybe it's how she acts, maybe it's how he acts, maybe it's just the combination of the two of them together, older, like when you mix stuff together and it bubbles over. But, nah, it isn't sweet. His hands under denim, and she's got nothing on beneath, and it's a good thing her hands and trapped, or her fingers would slide down and cause trouble. Entitled, that's what it is, like she has a right to touch him however. And she doesn't worry about his drinking. She can smell it, taste it, but he's not like Neil. He's strong, and she can't imagine him ever letting something control his life. Not booze, not drugs, none of it, and she licks at his chin and then ducks her head there, beneath dark jawline.
He says he'll come back, and she kisses him hard, all her uncertainty in the clank of teeth against teeth.] I trust you to want to come back. [She says it without pulling back, chasing the space between them and her lips against his again.] I'll go upstairs and crawl into your bed, beneath the blankets, and I'll hope really fucking hard, though. I might even pray to a santo or two, yeah? [She tries to sound teasing, but it comes out warbly and damp, young and worried, and her fingers tremble where they're trapped between bodies.]