It's easy to forget her words when Luther kisses her, and it's the taste of herself, and him. It's the clash of not caring at all about anything except kissing him back, about the tide of his body crashing in against her. The tick, tick, tick in the back of her skull that has a blurred out tally, but no forgetfulness on how much she couldn't touch him, kiss him, reach him, for the last however long.
She loves it. God, does she. It's a decadent way to start. The day. All of this. But it's something she has to relinquish for. Control and contact. Things she would never consider leaving in someone else's hands for seconds, but that she never has to question, consider, doubt in Luther. Especially when it's briefly so, so worth it to be wrecked on giving up even that to him.
Luther's voice is warm, pleased, and laughing when he finally gets back to words—laughing at her. The words she'd chosen as much on purpose as on not caring how, on the nose, of shameless they were while coming down. But the other side of the haze of kissing him, of her hands finally being able to run uncheck over his skin, her mind is back far more acutely aware and in control of itself, again.
"Are you, though?" Allison's eyebrows peaked, her tone sideways-imperious. Not attempting to make it look anything like real, but still somehow managing to look down her nose at him. Even from flat under him. As her nails drug down the last of his lower ribs and the muscles in his back. "Because there are definitely some rules about the clothing you're breaking at this point."
"Namely--" Still lofty, as her hands flattened, fingers pushing, at the same time, both at and under the offending edge of his pajama bottoms as her hands curled his sides, and the rise of his hips under the cloth against her palms, her fingers tucking under, only barely between the press of their bodies. "--that you have any still."
"That's--" is where her mouth starts to curve a little sharper at the edge, taking his own words to throw back at him. "--awfully disappointing, too."
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She loves it. God, does she. It's a decadent way to start. The day. All of this. But it's something she has to relinquish for. Control and contact. Things she would never consider leaving in someone else's hands for seconds, but that she never has to question, consider, doubt in Luther. Especially when it's briefly so, so worth it to be wrecked on giving up even that to him.
Luther's voice is warm, pleased, and laughing when he finally gets back to words—laughing at her. The words she'd chosen as much on purpose as on not caring how, on the nose, of shameless they were while coming down. But the other side of the haze of kissing him, of her hands finally being able to run uncheck over his skin, her mind is back far more acutely aware and in control of itself, again.
"Are you, though?" Allison's eyebrows peaked, her tone sideways-imperious. Not attempting to make it look anything like real, but still somehow managing to look down her nose at him. Even from flat under him. As her nails drug down the last of his lower ribs and the muscles in his back. "Because there are definitely some rules about the clothing you're breaking at this point."
"Namely--" Still lofty, as her hands flattened, fingers pushing, at the same time, both at and under the offending edge of his pajama bottoms as her hands curled his sides, and the rise of his hips under the cloth against her palms, her fingers tucking under, only barely between the press of their bodies. "--that you have any still."
"That's--" is where her mouth starts to curve a little sharper at the edge,
taking his own words to throw back at him. "--awfully disappointing, too."