Re: Marvel: Starbucks; Damian & Donna
[Her fingers were on his chest, twisting in his hoodie, and he bent into the pressure, and where he was cold and distant in conversation, he wasn't just then. He was right there, tasting espresso on Donna's lips, pushing past and deepening the kiss in contradiction to what he really ought be doing. She made a soft sound and it coaxed him, somehow, it opened him and Damian's hand (still holding his drink) slid low, to the small of her back. His other hand moved into her hair, though it was up with those ridiculous clips, and fingers scratched ditches into her scalp, his palm against her cheek.
They were where anyone—everyone—could see, and likely someone was watching, but the thought, the awareness he should have had, was absent in the flicker of kinetic friction. He didn't think hard about what he was doing. He didn't think at all. As always, the Wayne heir was more take than give, but it wasn't brutal, simply insistent. He rode it out, the kiss protracted, hinted teeth, until his mind managed to mire through the moment—and he pulled back.
He needed to leave. He thought about it, breath shallow in his chest, his eyes ice on Donna.
He almost got there. But, in the end, the press of her body against his and his hand like open flame on her cheek were enough for him to stumble back into it. Thoughtlessly, his arm constricted around her back, plastic cup to her spine, forcing hips together, along with belly and chest.]