[ He'd seen her at the faire, of course, but seeing her in person paints a fuller picture. Goth is the first word that comes to mind — thought, for reasons lost upon him for the immediate moment, with less derision than it usually might be — but whatever else he thinks is— obliterated, in the next moment, by the brush of her lips against his cheek.
All anyone else would see is a smudge of red on his skin. Negligible, hardly worth nothing.
But he feels an instant flush of heat run through him, flickering in the pit of his stomach, like a switch turning on. He can't really hide it — has never had much of a poker face — his eyes widening as he draws back to look at her. It's not the first time he's lost control of himself, here, but certainly the first time he's lost control of himself like this. ]
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retroactively forward-dating this to mid/late jan, please do not look at the timestamps.
All anyone else would see is a smudge of red on his skin. Negligible, hardly worth nothing.
But he feels an instant flush of heat run through him, flickering in the pit of his stomach, like a switch turning on. He can't really hide it — has never had much of a poker face — his eyes widening as he draws back to look at her. It's not the first time he's lost control of himself, here, but certainly the first time he's lost control of himself like this. ]
I—
[ Shit. What was he saying? ]
Couldn't turn a lady down.