Re: In-person: Cris/Sam
I WANT YOU! [Stubborn to be stubborner. And he ain't lying. He wants her better the way you want anybody you love to not have things that eat away at them, but it ain't 'cause he don't like the partsa her that ain't some kinda perfection or something. He does. Maybe they frustrate him, but he loves them. He loves her. Even this—the yelling, the arguing, wanting to shake her—he don't not like that. He likes that she don't stand down any more than he does, that she yells right back at him.
He don't miss that near-retreat, and he almost lets himself feel triumphant, but she beats him to it. He's sitting before she says anything, but she's so smug, he almost lets his scowl crack. It's a good look on her—and it's reassuring too, after how broken she sounded a minute ago. He drags her ass onto his lap, and he moves his hands under said ass, curling her closer.] Yeah—['Cause she ain't wron.g He does like it. He's gonna kiss her and she can probably tell. She crosses her arms and a sharp smirk cuts across Cris' lips.] Maybe you do, huh? [It don't matter if he had anything more to say 'bout that, 'cause she kisses him first, bloody, teeth and lips already parted, and he tries to catch her.—If she don't get away, he wraps his arms low around her back, crushing her to him, belly to belly and chest to chest and her cunt over his cock under nylon. His grip is as hard as it was before when he was barely restraining himself from rattling her 'til her eyes rolled around. He kisses her so much harder, some kinda stand-in for a battlefielda words.
Fingers scrape up to the napea blonde and tug, pulling her head back some—not too hard, but not real nice. He bares her throat, breath falling on all that exposed white.] Try. [He looks at her, and he's gutter, huh? He's filth and trash and nothing like the nice guy you could argue Neil was. He don't got nothing like pretty blue eyes for the gringa. He lifts his gaze and it's nothing but black and boil.] Tell me, huh? What to do.