Rodeo looks down at Lita's hands when she holds them out for his inspection, hands he's taken notice of on other occasions but has never been extended an open invitation to study fully. His own hands come up, rough and broad with scabbed knuckles and cracked calluses, resting beneath hers as he looks over those slender, agile hands. She's not wrong-- the muscle there is finely tuned but not for punching power. A few hits and her knuckles will split and bruise. Even hitting the focus mitts might damage her hands. He's not sure what a sub-cuticular stitch is, but he's not gonna be the one to jeopardize her ability to do them. His thumbs rub across her palms, and he turns one hand over to bring it up to his lips, brushing a kiss over her smooth knuckles. From there, he can't resist pulling her closer by that grip on her hand, drawing her in.
He laughs when she asks if he's gonna teach her to flip a guy, his fingers sliding between hers as his other hand seems to have a mind of its own as well, touching to her waist and then trailing behind her so he can skim his fingers under the hem of her shirt, tracing along her lower back. He's got to wonder how effective this lesson is really going to be when he's not sure he can keep his hands off her long enough to actually teach her anything. The intensity of the draw he's feeling towards her is difficult for him to battle, and he's always been the impulsive sort. He can already tell that as long as his hands are anywhere besides her warm skin, he'll be starved for that next touch. But he brought her here to teach her to keep herself safe when he's not around to put his hands all over her, and he's got to keep that task in focus.
"Yeah. I could teach you to flip a fella, but I'll tell ya right now, any fella gettin' flipped on his back by you is probably gonna like it," Rodeo grins, fingertips tracing up along her spine under her loose shirt. "But maybe we oughta stick to the krav moves. I don't wanna be the one to fuck up them million dollar mitts o' yours, baby." And, as if he isn't discussing the lesson plan that he still totally plans on executing, he leans in and starts to press kisses along her jaw, following it to her pulse point. "Then again," he murmurs against her throat, "you did so well at your shootin' lesson... maybe you missed your true callin', bein' a one-woman killin' machine..." His teeth scrape against her pulse. "Maybe you'll wipe the floor with me once we get started."
Get started. That's what he ought to be doing.
He forces himself to pull away, though it practically pains him to do so. He sighs, and tries to focus his attention on the delicious cheeseburger on Lita's t-shirt instead of the skin it's revealing as it slips off her shoulder. "Now c'mon, quit distractin' me, maharani. We got work to do. Focus," he scolds, as if she was the culprit all along. "Let's go, baby. Show me how you make a fist."