Good idea. His eyebrows go up. Really? Is it? He keeps expecting you—to say no. To put a stop to things. To decide that this is one compromise too much and take back your original agreement to spend tonight with him. But you're not. You're smiling. And you're getting out of the car to get into the back seat.
He sits for a moment, flummoxed. This isn't going how he thinks it should, despite his desires and intentions. It doesn't make sense. He shouldn't—get what he wants. But he is. You seem willing. Very willing. And he's wasting his chance. You may not have done this before in this world, but that also means—you may not have the scars from it. Maybe it was never the act itself that bothered you, but something else. Something he did? He hadn't had sex before, the first time he had sex with you in his world. He might have done something wrong—gave you the wrong impression?—which ruined everything that followed. That seems like such a petty reason, if it was nothing but a misunderstanding that perpetuated for years and never was resolved. He should be angry about that. But he can be angry later. When you're not waiting in the backseat for him.
Pushing up on one knee on the seat, he turns around to look at you. You seem just as eager as before. It's strange. His eyes narrow. He wonders how far your eagerness extends. "Take off your jacket?" Please. He takes his off, leaving it on the seat next to him. His sweatshirt and flannel shirt follow, along with his gloves. In just his long-sleeve shirt from the camp, it's cold, but he plans to warm up soon. He crawls over the seat into the back, not as a graceful as he could be, but not exactly awkward. He's had a vessel for years; he's learned how to employ it by now. It lands him in your lap, his knee between your legs, straddling your thigh. One hand he braces on the roof of the car for balance as he leans over you. It effectively traps you in the corner between the seat and the door with his body.
"Okay?" With them positioned like this. While waiting for your answer, he threads the fingers of his free hand through the hair above your ear, tilting your head up so he can lean down to kiss you. It's far less hesitant now, the way he likes to kiss, direct and with purpose. He runs the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip to encourage you to let him deepen the kiss.
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He sits for a moment, flummoxed. This isn't going how he thinks it should, despite his desires and intentions. It doesn't make sense. He shouldn't—get what he wants. But he is. You seem willing. Very willing. And he's wasting his chance. You may not have done this before in this world, but that also means—you may not have the scars from it. Maybe it was never the act itself that bothered you, but something else. Something he did? He hadn't had sex before, the first time he had sex with you in his world. He might have done something wrong—gave you the wrong impression?—which ruined everything that followed. That seems like such a petty reason, if it was nothing but a misunderstanding that perpetuated for years and never was resolved. He should be angry about that. But he can be angry later. When you're not waiting in the backseat for him.
Pushing up on one knee on the seat, he turns around to look at you. You seem just as eager as before. It's strange. His eyes narrow. He wonders how far your eagerness extends. "Take off your jacket?" Please. He takes his off, leaving it on the seat next to him. His sweatshirt and flannel shirt follow, along with his gloves. In just his long-sleeve shirt from the camp, it's cold, but he plans to warm up soon. He crawls over the seat into the back, not as a graceful as he could be, but not exactly awkward. He's had a vessel for years; he's learned how to employ it by now. It lands him in your lap, his knee between your legs, straddling your thigh. One hand he braces on the roof of the car for balance as he leans over you. It effectively traps you in the corner between the seat and the door with his body.
"Okay?" With them positioned like this. While waiting for your answer, he threads the fingers of his free hand through the hair above your ear, tilting your head up so he can lean down to kiss you. It's far less hesitant now, the way he likes to kiss, direct and with purpose. He runs the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip to encourage you to let him deepen the kiss.