[he said it!! as a joke!!! but, in the end, he's made out to be the joke. as usual.
stop meowing. stop pretending to be a cat, he's had enough. why hasn't she had enough?]
Hey...
[at the very least, don't meow while rubbing a hip between his legs. don't ask him to pet her while dragging a tongue along his skin. it's not rough like a cat's, but soft and wet. he shouldn't want to suck on that tongue, drawing it into his mouth and rubbing his against hers until she went all weak in the knees. he nearly turns his head as she licks up his cheek but resists, closing his eyes and tensing his jaw.
and gasping quietly when that same tongue turns onto his alcohol covered nipples. his fingers grip her hair, digging into the braids for leverage. he doesn't tug her back, merely holds on as he looks down and watches her kiss his skin. it's his turn for those flutterings to take flight in his ribcage. small birds struggling to break free and stretch their wings. they don't symbolize his heart -- they symbolize Robin's abandoned desires. the ones Nero blurts out to his face and he doesn't know what to do with.
she must something really interesting with tickling him. his laugh centers more in his chest this time rather than bursting out. quiet and vibrating in his throat like his hums because he won't release them like he won't release his birds.]
Yeah, I said you were a good cat. You don't have toββ a-ah.
[he had wanted her to get weak in the knees but having those green eyes look up at him from his chest is.
a problem. more so when her purrs start again and he makes a fist at the small of her back. she wants to be wanted, doesn't she? by him, no less. he doesn't get it at all. why him? he wants to ask her but knows the answer wouldn't make him happy, anyway. what'll make her happy is making her feel wanted. petting her, praising her.
making her purrs not to be catlike but because she's sated and content.
finally, he gives a small tug to her blonde hair to tip her head back and away from his throat. so he can lean down, seal his mouth over hers and dip his tongue into her mouth to taste her. the fist at her back is exchanged for his forearm, using the strength there to plaster her front against his and grip one side of her waist. his thumb digs into her spine, his fingers tugging at the tight skin of her stomach.
there's a slightly harder tug on her hair to tilt her head back further but he pulls away, tongue nearly dripping both their saliva onto her lips. he swallows it away, tasting her.]
You're too good of a cat, Your Majesty. Spent too much time with the lions?
don't hold yourself back
stop meowing. stop pretending to be a cat, he's had enough. why hasn't she had enough?]
Hey...
[at the very least, don't meow while rubbing a hip between his legs. don't ask him to pet her while dragging a tongue along his skin. it's not rough like a cat's, but soft and wet. he shouldn't want to suck on that tongue, drawing it into his mouth and rubbing his against hers until she went all weak in the knees. he nearly turns his head as she licks up his cheek but resists, closing his eyes and tensing his jaw.
and gasping quietly when that same tongue turns onto his alcohol covered nipples. his fingers grip her hair, digging into the braids for leverage. he doesn't tug her back, merely holds on as he looks down and watches her kiss his skin. it's his turn for those flutterings to take flight in his ribcage. small birds struggling to break free and stretch their wings. they don't symbolize his heart -- they symbolize Robin's abandoned desires. the ones Nero blurts out to his face and he doesn't know what to do with.
she must something really interesting with tickling him. his laugh centers more in his chest this time rather than bursting out. quiet and vibrating in his throat like his hums because he won't release them like he won't release his birds.]
Yeah, I said you were a good cat. You don't have toββ a-ah.
[he had wanted her to get weak in the knees but having those green eyes look up at him from his chest is.
a problem. more so when her purrs start again and he makes a fist at the small of her back. she wants to be wanted, doesn't she? by him, no less. he doesn't get it at all. why him? he wants to ask her but knows the answer wouldn't make him happy, anyway. what'll make her happy is making her feel wanted. petting her, praising her.
making her purrs not to be catlike but because she's sated and content.
finally, he gives a small tug to her blonde hair to tip her head back and away from his throat. so he can lean down, seal his mouth over hers and dip his tongue into her mouth to taste her. the fist at her back is exchanged for his forearm, using the strength there to plaster her front against his and grip one side of her waist. his thumb digs into her spine, his fingers tugging at the tight skin of her stomach.
there's a slightly harder tug on her hair to tilt her head back further but he pulls away, tongue nearly dripping both their saliva onto her lips. he swallows it away, tasting her.]
You're too good of a cat, Your Majesty. Spent too much time with the lions?