She struggles as much as she can to get away once she feels the grip of his hand around her ankle, but knows it is useless even before she's dragged under the weight of his body and pinned. She waits for the reprimand for her error, the sort that will be wordless and admittedly deserved, but it does not come. Instead she finds him simply looking at her, and her stomach dips and warms in a way that is entirely foreign to her.
His distraction would prove the perfect opportunity to get away if she had even the slightest interest in doing so, and she realizes as she gazes back up into his face that she hasn't even a bit of an urge to do that. It is another one of those moments in which their bodies have fit together in a way she notices, but instead of being a split second that she pours over later when she's alone, it stretches out and takes on an almost surreal, dream-like quality.
It does not feel like her hand that reaches for him, that lifts until she can slip her fingers gently into the dark cloud of his hair and push it away from his face on one side to tuck behind his ear. His hair is soft and feels clean, his eyes wide set and blue, his bone structure immaculate. In that moment, his beauty feels singular to her young, foolish heart, and she believes she is never going to encounter anything quite like it again as she slips her hand from his hair to trail fingertips down the scruffy, square shape of his jaw towards his mouth.
Beneath him her legs shift in a way that is only instinct, bending at the knee and lifting on either side of his hips to cradle him there. She is aware on some level that this could also be an attack, but cares little to stop it.
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Date: 2014-07-27 05:17 pm (UTC)His distraction would prove the perfect opportunity to get away if she had even the slightest interest in doing so, and she realizes as she gazes back up into his face that she hasn't even a bit of an urge to do that. It is another one of those moments in which their bodies have fit together in a way she notices, but instead of being a split second that she pours over later when she's alone, it stretches out and takes on an almost surreal, dream-like quality.
It does not feel like her hand that reaches for him, that lifts until she can slip her fingers gently into the dark cloud of his hair and push it away from his face on one side to tuck behind his ear. His hair is soft and feels clean, his eyes wide set and blue, his bone structure immaculate. In that moment, his beauty feels singular to her young, foolish heart, and she believes she is never going to encounter anything quite like it again as she slips her hand from his hair to trail fingertips down the scruffy, square shape of his jaw towards his mouth.
Beneath him her legs shift in a way that is only instinct, bending at the knee and lifting on either side of his hips to cradle him there. She is aware on some level that this could also be an attack, but cares little to stop it.