"Oh," the voice eased smoothly out of him, fluidly and unfettered as a purse of water from the fountain mouth of a baby angel. "Looks like somebody's locked out." he flashed for merely a moment the sound of the dull-clunk of the unlocking mechanism, but then secured the car again instantly. She of course then faced him, with her tear stroked face, the anger on her perfect skin, the soft wires that had escaped her flawlessly molded hair. It was a sharp reminder of how careless he could be with his words, how much weight she bore of his bad side than any other human being besides his mother... how lovely she was when she cried.
The hero in his heart blushed between the villainous fantasy that inspired him to advance forward in a very specified, desirous stride toward her, and the indicative way he'd moistened his suddenly not-too-talkative mouth with a curl of his tongue. There was a conquering taste of intensity in his now storming eyes. She was his whether she liked it or not. And really, her being his wasn't as bad as it seemed. The things he was going to do to her in the parking lot right now were far from mean or even lamentable. They would be as songs from the divine, unexpectedly profound, surprisingly emotional, and celestially long-lasting. Ahem.
When he reached her he spoke nothing, only took her face in his hands, smeared away the speckled splotches, streaks of black leaking mascara, hot tears turned cool with his thumbs and pressed his curious mouth urgently against hers (did those tears still taste the same?) until no breath could be rightfully distinguished between either hers, or his. It didn't break, that passion, as the full stock of his body gently collided with her to pin the request. And he hit the unlock button for the car again, grip aimed for prying open the backseat, grabbed hold of her hips to steer her into that direction, and as she complied at crawling in, got to hastily unfastening whatever obstacle lay between he and his prize.