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thejusticelounge2014-03-29 03:09 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-03-29 03:09 pm
Entry tags:
all things feline
Kate is settled in watching catvids—Maru and his new friend Hana, if you want to be exact.
Bruce only wakes up because the fires gone down too low, making the heat of the woman’s body, curled on top of him apparent and nearly unfamiliar. Bruce cracks an eye, looking around the room blearily, and then exhales, bringing a hand up to smooth over Kate’s hair.
Bruce’s voice rumbles deep in his chest more than it makes it out of his mouth as he blinks, slowly. “..cats?” He asks, eyes half lidded.
Kate is smiling sorta dorkily at the tablet screen, arching in a cat-like way herself at Bruce’s touch. The dorky catvid-watching smile is still on her lips as she turns to look at him. “I’m easily entertained sometimes,” she says. “You can go back to sleep, corazon, I’m okay.”
Bruce has a deep fondness for all things feline, despite himself, and runs his hand over the length of her body when she stretches, arches, and kisses the softness of her hair at her temple, half-mumbling. “..I want you to stay.”
Bruce says it, and the second the statement is finished, is suddenly, and not surprisingly, more awake. His heart ramps up, the steady double-beat hitting a syncopated note and he blinks, looking to Kate’s face as he realizes what he’s admitted, in his half-asleep state.
Kate’s fingers are lingering on the screen from where she’s hit pause on the tablet, but she lets go, lets the electronics fall to the side as she reaches for Bruce, touching his jaw to ease the startled, deer-in-the-headlights look that’s emerged there at his statement. She’s not afraid by it, it says, and so neither should he be. “Here?” she asks, gently.
Bruce clears his throat and shifts, as if he means to get up, and get away, effectively. He shakes his head, but doesn’t answer, and pats her side, as if placating her.
Kate shifts herself, getting in his way, but only in a gentle way, just the faintest bit of reproof. Mostly, it’s for trying to dodge by a little touch. “I want to stay,” she says, after a moment of consideration, and lies back down, draping an arm over his chest once more.
Bruce almost fights her. Almost pushes back and battles the words that she volleys back after his confession, because it would be the status quo. What was normal, what was.. What had worked. But then, she is warm on top of him, the weight of her body settling on his in the right way, in all the right places. It stills him, the skittishness of his actions and Bruce answers her, quietly. “I want you to stay with me.”
Kate opens her eyes and leans upwards a little on her elbows so she can look at him a bit. “Then I will,” she says, and while it’s a simple statement, it is utterly truthful, and she punctuates it with a trail of her fingertips on his chest, hand then lingering over his heart.
Bruce blinks, and is sure that she can feel the double-beat there, underneath his fingertips and he exhales. The sleep stll poisons his tongue when he utters, softly, kissing the edge of her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair. “..Thank you.”
It’s poison only for Bruce’s will, for his impulse to preserve his vision of self through denial. Kate can feel him startle (a Bruce startle, which is to say a micro-second of surprise) as though anticipating her to have done something, anything, else; for her, the answer was never going to be anything else. But even though it was a simple answer, it wasn’t small, so she doesn’t dismiss his thanks, tell him it’s nothing. It’s not, for either of them.
Kate presses a kiss to his jaw instead, breath warm, lips parting with just the faintest edge of teeth.
Bruce turns her over on the sofa they are in, pressing her against the cushions on the back, cradling her between the soft safety of them and the hardness of his body, and kisses her back, a touch possessive, tainted with a sudden, undeniable hunger.
Kate arches a little, up into him, and kisses him back. She’s just as hungry as he is, and the kiss says as much without words, tells him how much she wants to claim him in return.
Bruce growls. “The knife.”
Kate It takes a moment for her to understand what he means, and they’re close enough that he can probably hear HER heart skip once when she gets it. “Tell me.”
Bruce drags his teeth against her mouth, ignoring the femininity of the curve and swell of it: he goes for blood, nipping sharply until he tastes copper. He murmurs, low and hard. “I want it.”
Kate gasps at the bite, but only a little, and she growls softly into his mouth—the alpha female, pleased but asserting that she’s not to be underestimated. “Then yes. Soon.” Not because she isn’t interested now, but because it’s not something done lightly, casually—it requires preparation, careful thought, and not to be half asleep and tangled up on the sofa.
Bruce is satisfied with the answer and laps at the branching sliver of blood he’s driven out of her bottom lip, not hiding it. The growl she gives makes him return one, because rapidly, and without question, her place as the alpha female in his life has become unquestioned, even with the lingering, physical shadow haunting his life as of late. Bruce drags his hand up, to seek the softness of her breast, and he squeezes it, thumb rippling over the soft peak under the material of her shirt, the satin of her bra. “My sweet girl, aren’t you?”
Kate looks up at him to meet his eyes, hers darkening with the pressure of his fingers. “Your sweet girl,” she agrees, voice quiet but unquestioning. “Always that.”
Bruce only wakes up because the fires gone down too low, making the heat of the woman’s body, curled on top of him apparent and nearly unfamiliar. Bruce cracks an eye, looking around the room blearily, and then exhales, bringing a hand up to smooth over Kate’s hair.
Bruce’s voice rumbles deep in his chest more than it makes it out of his mouth as he blinks, slowly. “..cats?” He asks, eyes half lidded.
Kate is smiling sorta dorkily at the tablet screen, arching in a cat-like way herself at Bruce’s touch. The dorky catvid-watching smile is still on her lips as she turns to look at him. “I’m easily entertained sometimes,” she says. “You can go back to sleep, corazon, I’m okay.”
Bruce has a deep fondness for all things feline, despite himself, and runs his hand over the length of her body when she stretches, arches, and kisses the softness of her hair at her temple, half-mumbling. “..I want you to stay.”
Bruce says it, and the second the statement is finished, is suddenly, and not surprisingly, more awake. His heart ramps up, the steady double-beat hitting a syncopated note and he blinks, looking to Kate’s face as he realizes what he’s admitted, in his half-asleep state.
Kate’s fingers are lingering on the screen from where she’s hit pause on the tablet, but she lets go, lets the electronics fall to the side as she reaches for Bruce, touching his jaw to ease the startled, deer-in-the-headlights look that’s emerged there at his statement. She’s not afraid by it, it says, and so neither should he be. “Here?” she asks, gently.
Bruce clears his throat and shifts, as if he means to get up, and get away, effectively. He shakes his head, but doesn’t answer, and pats her side, as if placating her.
Kate shifts herself, getting in his way, but only in a gentle way, just the faintest bit of reproof. Mostly, it’s for trying to dodge by a little touch. “I want to stay,” she says, after a moment of consideration, and lies back down, draping an arm over his chest once more.
Bruce almost fights her. Almost pushes back and battles the words that she volleys back after his confession, because it would be the status quo. What was normal, what was.. What had worked. But then, she is warm on top of him, the weight of her body settling on his in the right way, in all the right places. It stills him, the skittishness of his actions and Bruce answers her, quietly. “I want you to stay with me.”
Kate opens her eyes and leans upwards a little on her elbows so she can look at him a bit. “Then I will,” she says, and while it’s a simple statement, it is utterly truthful, and she punctuates it with a trail of her fingertips on his chest, hand then lingering over his heart.
Bruce blinks, and is sure that she can feel the double-beat there, underneath his fingertips and he exhales. The sleep stll poisons his tongue when he utters, softly, kissing the edge of her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair. “..Thank you.”
It’s poison only for Bruce’s will, for his impulse to preserve his vision of self through denial. Kate can feel him startle (a Bruce startle, which is to say a micro-second of surprise) as though anticipating her to have done something, anything, else; for her, the answer was never going to be anything else. But even though it was a simple answer, it wasn’t small, so she doesn’t dismiss his thanks, tell him it’s nothing. It’s not, for either of them.
Kate presses a kiss to his jaw instead, breath warm, lips parting with just the faintest edge of teeth.
Bruce turns her over on the sofa they are in, pressing her against the cushions on the back, cradling her between the soft safety of them and the hardness of his body, and kisses her back, a touch possessive, tainted with a sudden, undeniable hunger.
Kate arches a little, up into him, and kisses him back. She’s just as hungry as he is, and the kiss says as much without words, tells him how much she wants to claim him in return.
Bruce growls. “The knife.”
Kate It takes a moment for her to understand what he means, and they’re close enough that he can probably hear HER heart skip once when she gets it. “Tell me.”
Bruce drags his teeth against her mouth, ignoring the femininity of the curve and swell of it: he goes for blood, nipping sharply until he tastes copper. He murmurs, low and hard. “I want it.”
Kate gasps at the bite, but only a little, and she growls softly into his mouth—the alpha female, pleased but asserting that she’s not to be underestimated. “Then yes. Soon.” Not because she isn’t interested now, but because it’s not something done lightly, casually—it requires preparation, careful thought, and not to be half asleep and tangled up on the sofa.
Bruce is satisfied with the answer and laps at the branching sliver of blood he’s driven out of her bottom lip, not hiding it. The growl she gives makes him return one, because rapidly, and without question, her place as the alpha female in his life has become unquestioned, even with the lingering, physical shadow haunting his life as of late. Bruce drags his hand up, to seek the softness of her breast, and he squeezes it, thumb rippling over the soft peak under the material of her shirt, the satin of her bra. “My sweet girl, aren’t you?”
Kate looks up at him to meet his eyes, hers darkening with the pressure of his fingers. “Your sweet girl,” she agrees, voice quiet but unquestioning. “Always that.”