[She knows what it means, the endearment that Trevor calls her. It's lovely and fitting, but it's not the translation of it that has a thrill racing down her spine; it's the way his voice lilts over the syllables, the way some small part of her instinctively finishes out the rest of the song (gentille alouette; alouette, je te plumerai) and that's precisely how she feels, a bird in the hand and in the cage of their love of her.
She squirms a little, trying to help him in his pursuit, which by extension means he's left with the torment of a lapful of squirming Speaker, but so it goes.]
Yes.
[Nimbly, she tugs her hand free of Alucard's hold and runs it down his body toward his hip instead, not quite reaching to take him in hand just yet — but close.]
no subject
She squirms a little, trying to help him in his pursuit, which by extension means he's left with the torment of a lapful of squirming Speaker, but so it goes.]
Yes.
[Nimbly, she tugs her hand free of Alucard's hold and runs it down his body toward his hip instead, not quite reaching to take him in hand just yet — but close.]
Yes, yes, yes.