[ That confusion eases with the words that come tumbling out of his mouth, reassuring as they are. He wants her, and that was what she'd thought, what she'd assumed, but he's so careful that, even with the warmth spreading insistently through her veins, she'd needed to be sure.
His knuckles brush over her cheek, and it coaxes a quiet sigh from her, something that's almost a purr as her eyes slip closed, but— he pulls his hand away. On reflex, she reaches up to catch his wrist before he can get too far, looking at him again with those darkened eyes, but it's something more than the disorienting heaviness that hangs behind her gaze now. ]
Talk?
[ Right. Talking. She'd said they should do that, and she wants to, has wanted to for weeks now, but—
Everything she can focus on now is the heat and him. Physical contact is exactly what she'd wanted when they'd been returning from the moon, and she'd wanted to do so much more, to grab him and pin him against something, to kiss and touch and—
The hand she'd used to guide Peter's fingers to her shoulder moves to his jaw instead, and she cups his face (hot against near-chilled skin by comparison), just— looking at him. ]
I want you.
[ She says it simply but quietly as her fingers travel to his hair. ]
All of you.
[ And despite the heat and the distracting sensations that accompany his skin on hers, she means all of him. She doesn't just want this, the physicalness of it, but for now, so much of what she can concentrate on is the press of his skin to hers, the way she remembers it felt to kiss him, to be pushed up against him, and—
Her fingers tighten in his hair (not brutally so, but enough for a grip). ]
no subject
His knuckles brush over her cheek, and it coaxes a quiet sigh from her, something that's almost a purr as her eyes slip closed, but— he pulls his hand away. On reflex, she reaches up to catch his wrist before he can get too far, looking at him again with those darkened eyes, but it's something more than the disorienting heaviness that hangs behind her gaze now. ]
Talk?
[ Right. Talking. She'd said they should do that, and she wants to, has wanted to for weeks now, but—
Everything she can focus on now is the heat and him. Physical contact is exactly what she'd wanted when they'd been returning from the moon, and she'd wanted to do so much more, to grab him and pin him against something, to kiss and touch and—
The hand she'd used to guide Peter's fingers to her shoulder moves to his jaw instead, and she cups his face (hot against near-chilled skin by comparison), just— looking at him. ]
I want you.
[ She says it simply but quietly as her fingers travel to his hair. ]
All of you.
[ And despite the heat and the distracting sensations that accompany his skin on hers, she means all of him. She doesn't just want this, the physicalness of it, but for now, so much of what she can concentrate on is the press of his skin to hers, the way she remembers it felt to kiss him, to be pushed up against him, and—
Her fingers tighten in his hair (not brutally so, but enough for a grip). ]
Tell me what you want.