[ It's the noise of appreciation that makes him short circuit, breath catching in his throat when she gets him against the wall, delaying any productive reaction by seconds. Even after the Framework, Fitz remains expressive at the worst of times, and this is — better, the best.
Carter finds the only gap in the wall of his bloody apartment, as it happens, a clever maneuver that doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated, even if he has better things to do with his mouth than gawk at her. Fitz angles to the side, catching the corner of her lips, further smudging the redness there, and kissing across her jaw. Can't let her outdo him like it's nothing, yeah? Hands still firm at her back (not budging despite the reversal of positions), he ducks to trail his mouth along the hollow of her throat.
Spies tend to have a thing about that, confirmed by his own interests and experience of others. A little danger has appeal. ]
[ A little danger, a little surprise has appeal — she isn't often blindsided so the novelty is something she relishes (when it doesn't involve bullets), a thrilling little shiver down her spine all the while. Although it does feel a little bit like a gunshot for how precisely he turns the tables and she bares her throat to the wandering warmth of his kisses before she even realises it, lashes fluttering like her wild pulse. ]
Oh, bloody hell.
[ Soft, more breath than voice, because he catches on a spot that honest-to-God makes her knees a little weak — she'd blame the bourbon but please, she can lie to others, not herself — and her hand on his cheek finds purchase in his hair, curling through it and holding on as if to stop him, to keep him there, to drag him back up for another urgent kiss. She's breathless with it, with waiting for a slip of tongue or the nip of his teeth, with being torn on asking for it because all that she manages on a trembling exhale is — ]
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Carter finds the only gap in the wall of his bloody apartment, as it happens, a clever maneuver that doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated, even if he has better things to do with his mouth than gawk at her. Fitz angles to the side, catching the corner of her lips, further smudging the redness there, and kissing across her jaw. Can't let her outdo him like it's nothing, yeah? Hands still firm at her back (not budging despite the reversal of positions), he ducks to trail his mouth along the hollow of her throat.
Spies tend to have a thing about that, confirmed by his own interests and experience of others. A little danger has appeal. ]
no subject
Oh, bloody hell.
[ Soft, more breath than voice, because he catches on a spot that honest-to-God makes her knees a little weak — she'd blame the bourbon but please, she can lie to others, not herself — and her hand on his cheek finds purchase in his hair, curling through it and holding on as if to stop him, to keep him there, to drag him back up for another urgent kiss. She's breathless with it, with waiting for a slip of tongue or the nip of his teeth, with being torn on asking for it because all that she manages on a trembling exhale is — ]
Leo.