Re: In-person: Sam & Cris
[He drags her closer, but she shoves up against him with just as much force, like she doesn't want even room enough to breathe between them, His fingers feel strong and steady as they scrape against her cheek, and that makes her eyes water for some stupidly sentimental reason, like she's forgot what it felt like, when she felt it just the day before. But it doesn't feel that way, as illogical as it is.
She rubs her cheek against his jaw, lingering where it's rougher, and she can smell the whiskey on him. Neil taught her how to smell booze quick, and to identify it just as easy. She tastes it in the kiss, and she bites his lower lip hard and tugs on it, and she isn't thinking how it's not anything she'd do young and unsure. It's possessive, yeah? In a way that girl hadn't been. Her hands beneath the white camiseta, slid down and up beneath fabric, over hair and belly until white rucks to her elbows, that's possessive too.
But she knows they got no time for this, and it's dark, and maybe words are important. Just saying one thing, because it's the only thing that matters.] You got to come back, ok? You got to. [And maybe it's progress, not offering herself up like some delicacy on a platter, but it doesn't mean she don't want to, not if it means he's safe.] Come back to me? If you mean it, about me not being better younger, you'll come back to me.