[ she's being gentle. see? and really, its as much a reason to touch soft fur as it is to get close to him. not that she needs to fashion an excuse - when she wants to be near him, she'll put herself in his orbit. but...this is different. he's protesting but he's stuttering, red all over, even sweating.
it's cute. he's cute when he's all flustered.
Nero puffs the fur up against her cheeks and tries to picture if the colors clash with her. what a shame if they would. hm. she might just wear it anyway. but then - there's a hand? and she's the flustered one, the tail falling off once there aren't her hands keeping it in place. in absence of a better place, her hands land against his chest. a thick vest, but still enough to feel out the contours, and to brush soft fingers against the silver necklace that he wore. ]
Y-you will?! You agree to it!
[ Nero doesn't have the excuse of a beastly curse. she smells him - not that he wears cologne, perfume, or battle-musk. even with the dying hint of old beer to it, its the scent of the skin that had never gotten out of her nose from the first time. and this close -
one hand comes up to turn his cheek. the other rings round his neck to make a more splendid necklace and a better angle for her to kiss his lips. rough, masculine. enjoyable to press against, to push into. eyes shut and she enjoys the act, this moment that she's wanted like a nap in summer sun...
how she's wished to be romanced, to be pursued. but she's learning, at least, that the pursuer in her dreams has begun to wear an emerald cloak. and if that is so, then again, she must be the dominant one. the one to make the moves, to act on impulses. others might sit around and debate until the stars come out, but that has never been her way, her lot in life. she's had to act first until it became second nature. until it was part of her. the joke, that Nero leaps before she knows where to land.
her hands land up into his hair again. there is no ear to curve her finger around; the shape of his skull anomalously different. it is much longer before fingers touch around his ear, and then its silk and softness, flickering in shock. ]
no subject
it's cute. he's cute when he's all flustered.
Nero puffs the fur up against her cheeks and tries to picture if the colors clash with her. what a shame if they would. hm. she might just wear it anyway. but then - there's a hand? and she's the flustered one, the tail falling off once there aren't her hands keeping it in place. in absence of a better place, her hands land against his chest. a thick vest, but still enough to feel out the contours, and to brush soft fingers against the silver necklace that he wore. ]
Y-you will?! You agree to it!
[ Nero doesn't have the excuse of a beastly curse. she smells him - not that he wears cologne, perfume, or battle-musk. even with the dying hint of old beer to it, its the scent of the skin that had never gotten out of her nose from the first time. and this close -
one hand comes up to turn his cheek. the other rings round his neck to make a more splendid necklace and a better angle for her to kiss his lips. rough, masculine. enjoyable to press against, to push into. eyes shut and she enjoys the act, this moment that she's wanted like a nap in summer sun...
how she's wished to be romanced, to be pursued. but she's learning, at least, that the pursuer in her dreams has begun to wear an emerald cloak. and if that is so, then again, she must be the dominant one. the one to make the moves, to act on impulses. others might sit around and debate until the stars come out, but that has never been her way, her lot in life. she's had to act first until it became second nature. until it was part of her. the joke, that Nero leaps before she knows where to land.
her hands land up into his hair again. there is no ear to curve her finger around; the shape of his skull anomalously different. it is much longer before fingers touch around his ear, and then its silk and softness, flickering in shock. ]