[She could fit a narrative to this, if she wanted. She's a Speaker; turning a string of events into a story is what she was born and raised to do. And half of good storytelling is knowing how to deftly weave in things that weren't there in practice, but that knit the retelling together — morals and themes and trends and callbacks. She could put all of that into this. She could make up a pretty thread of how they need this because home is sacred, home is just theirs, and so the poison needs to be drawn out before they enter it so as not to bring the stains in with them.
She could, but none of that has anything to do with why she's kissing him now.
The sentiment is so raw, so aching, that she (she! she, of all people) can't even fit words to it. She needs him, and he needs her, and they've needed each other all night but they couldn't, it couldn't be allowed. But now the rules are lifted, because they're safe here, and there's no one to give a damn if her fingers are slipping down the line of his jaw to his throat, to the buttons of his shirt, loosening them not because she wants to reach under it but simply because she can't stand how perfect he is right now, and wants to be the one to dishevel him.]
Adrian.
[She smothers the word against his lips, smudging her lipstick on his mouth as one kiss turns to two and to three in an ever-lengthening chain. There's the faintest hint of a copper taste in his mouth and she doesn't let herself think about it. She comes close to cutting her tongue on the tip of one of his fangs, and she doesn't let herself think about that either.]
I will kill you. If you take your hands off me.
[Not that she thinks there's any real chance of that, but it bears remarking, just the same.]
no subject
She could, but none of that has anything to do with why she's kissing him now.
The sentiment is so raw, so aching, that she (she! she, of all people) can't even fit words to it. She needs him, and he needs her, and they've needed each other all night but they couldn't, it couldn't be allowed. But now the rules are lifted, because they're safe here, and there's no one to give a damn if her fingers are slipping down the line of his jaw to his throat, to the buttons of his shirt, loosening them not because she wants to reach under it but simply because she can't stand how perfect he is right now, and wants to be the one to dishevel him.]
Adrian.
[She smothers the word against his lips, smudging her lipstick on his mouth as one kiss turns to two and to three in an ever-lengthening chain. There's the faintest hint of a copper taste in his mouth and she doesn't let herself think about it. She comes close to cutting her tongue on the tip of one of his fangs, and she doesn't let herself think about that either.]
I will kill you. If you take your hands off me.
[Not that she thinks there's any real chance of that, but it bears remarking, just the same.]