[ He pauses as he’s moving, as she shifts closer to him rather than away; he nearly laughs and reminds her that this is the opposite of what she’s doing, but as her lips press against him, hot breath against his jaw and teeth dragging along his skin, he suddenly realizes that they might actually be on the same page, here.
So he still breathes out a laugh, though it’s dark and wanting, and he braces both hands under her thighs to help keep her in place. He shifts again, getting his footing right, and shoving himself to his feet.
Practice means he doesn’t take out the coffee table and manages to keep his balance, and thank every star in the sky that their apartment, comfortable as it is, isn’t so large that he has to walk six miles to get to the bedroom. It helps, too, that he’s made the trek from the living space to the bedroom a thousand times, and a lot of those times were while he was drunk, so he could probably find his way around blind. Which is a good thing, since he’s mouthing at Gamora’s neck as he goes, nudging the door open with his foot.
They’ve been sleeping in separate beds, for the most part, which means he has to make the split-second decision of which bed to fool around in. He chooses his own – mostly because the covers are still undone, and isn’t that convenient? – and carefully helps her onto it, climbing in after and bracketing her hips with his knees, her head with his hands.
He pauses for a moment, staring down at her and cupping her cheek with his hand. And he just— breathes in the moment, feels something in his chest twist and bloom at the sight of her (and holy shit, she’s gonna be naked in his bed, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit), and his expression softens and warms with it. Affectionate and awed and almost dazed, because he still can’t quite believe they’ve managed to get this far. ]
God, you’re beautiful.
[ And he breathes it out before ducking down again, capturing her lips. ]
no subject
So he still breathes out a laugh, though it’s dark and wanting, and he braces both hands under her thighs to help keep her in place. He shifts again, getting his footing right, and shoving himself to his feet.
Practice means he doesn’t take out the coffee table and manages to keep his balance, and thank every star in the sky that their apartment, comfortable as it is, isn’t so large that he has to walk six miles to get to the bedroom. It helps, too, that he’s made the trek from the living space to the bedroom a thousand times, and a lot of those times were while he was drunk, so he could probably find his way around blind. Which is a good thing, since he’s mouthing at Gamora’s neck as he goes, nudging the door open with his foot.
They’ve been sleeping in separate beds, for the most part, which means he has to make the split-second decision of which bed to fool around in. He chooses his own – mostly because the covers are still undone, and isn’t that convenient? – and carefully helps her onto it, climbing in after and bracketing her hips with his knees, her head with his hands.
He pauses for a moment, staring down at her and cupping her cheek with his hand. And he just— breathes in the moment, feels something in his chest twist and bloom at the sight of her (and holy shit, she’s gonna be naked in his bed, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit), and his expression softens and warms with it. Affectionate and awed and almost dazed, because he still can’t quite believe they’ve managed to get this far. ]
God, you’re beautiful.
[ And he breathes it out before ducking down again, capturing her lips. ]