[He's not sure if it's her taste, the bite of alcohol in her breath lapping at the roof of his mouth or the sound she pours into it that creates something close to a riple effect. It starts from his own vocal chords, thrumming a drawn-out hum in return. It hits against her, the motion of his hips unable to stop from meeting her subtle rocking. It reaches to painful, the strain in the front of his trousers, but this is a man who can deal with a large sword thrust through his chest and walk without much of a care. This ache, he enjoyed. It felt viscerous, born from the effect of whatever hit him and a little bit raw, bred from something that has made him give an actual damn about her. It streams to both his hands, the one kneading the flesh under his fingers, the other rubbing and stroking at the firm curve of her neck. To the roll of his tongue, raking against the edge of her teeth as if taunting her to bite him instead.
He hears the rustle of cloth in what seems to him a far distance. And only because he's wondering why she stopped carding her hand through his hair - something he hadn't realized he enjoyed a bit much until it was gone. His eyes open then, having them closed as he kissed back, and all his brain registers is a hiss of a yes. He's seen her naked; hell, felt her fully against him, inside and out, but it still awakens something in him when he's aware that she's doing this out of her own volition this time.
Dante isn't wearing his trademark leather coat, it's draped at the end of the couch they're in, unable to leave it very far, nor the guns strapped to the holsters in its seams. (The sword? That's actually propped against the wall looking more like a stage prop than anything else).
He moves the hand on her neck to the collar of his shirt, unfastening a couple of buttons - but it's difficult, to keep that up, when she's like this and he wants to guide her head just so, to kiss her deeper, so it's short-lived. He smiles through the kiss as he brings it back to stroke her cheek.]
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He hears the rustle of cloth in what seems to him a far distance. And only because he's wondering why she stopped carding her hand through his hair - something he hadn't realized he enjoyed a bit much until it was gone. His eyes open then, having them closed as he kissed back, and all his brain registers is a hiss of a yes. He's seen her naked; hell, felt her fully against him, inside and out, but it still awakens something in him when he's aware that she's doing this out of her own volition this time.
Dante isn't wearing his trademark leather coat, it's draped at the end of the couch they're in, unable to leave it very far, nor the guns strapped to the holsters in its seams. (The sword? That's actually propped against the wall looking more like a stage prop than anything else).
He moves the hand on her neck to the collar of his shirt, unfastening a couple of buttons - but it's difficult, to keep that up, when she's like this and he wants to guide her head just so, to kiss her deeper, so it's short-lived. He smiles through the kiss as he brings it back to stroke her cheek.]