chronologistics | IC Contact @ Asgard Eventide

Oh. [-- mmf. She's... kissing him?] Yeah. [His eyes grow heavy as she pets his hair.] Okay.

[He's about to rest his forehead against her shoulder when she takes his hand, and everything about him falls still. He lets her do what she wants with it, though, even despite the audible swallow in his throat, and the hot prickle spreading along his neck.

He's touched it, yes, but not like this. Not when he's naked on his couch, and she's naked on his lap, and certainly not after having just agreed to --

-- he kisses her. Whole and deep, something that's just this side of desperate; less like a kiss and more like a blatant distraction. His free hand tangles firmly into her hair, like keeping her in place so he can keep kissing her. He strokes against the way her hips roll forward, fingertips grazing almost accidentally against wet slickness at first, and then more purposeful.

He breaks away just as he curls one finger (like this?) and rests his forehead against her shoulder, burying his face against her skin with tense sort of exhale.]

Edited 2013-07-02 05:11 (UTC)

[A sharp gasp sticks in her throat, and then Terezi's arms go around him and cling for dear life. Her hips arch forward more, straining her back as she rocks further down the length of that single digit pressing inside her. Maybe it'd be a better idea to let him go at his own pace, but her mind is so hazy and Jegus does it feel good. (A small part of her suspects that her reaction is more holy shit yes, Dave, rolling around in her sponge than the fact that he's doing anything particularly mindblowing, but it doesn't matter. Terezi doesn't care.)

She'd kiss him but his head is in her shoulder and she doesn't mind; she buries her face into the crook of his neck and clutches at him, breathing hard through parted lips, kissing the skin when she can think of it.

It's all Terezi can do to give him his (metaphorical) space, letting him move slowly rather than throwing everything at her at once. With effort, she reigns herself in, stills her hips to no more than responsive twitches, mumbles encouragement into his shoulder, lets him know he's doing it right as best as she can in her current state.]

[The blood is roaring in his ears; a combination of thrill, anticipation, and the sudden, overwhelming quiet of his apartment. He can't see her, with his face buried into her shoulder like it is, but he can feel her -- twitching, and tensing, and wrapping around him like some sort of python that grew arms and legs, and jesus fucking christ he didn't think she could get even more wet -- and so he can easily picture the expression on her face.

It leaves a dull ache in his chest, low enough to almost be in his stomach.

He'd let go of her hair before, and now his arm is wrapped low around her waist, creating a heavy sort of weight there. It tightens (not letting go--) as he finally tips his head back to peer up at her, face flushed with heat and hair rather mussed. His eyes flick between hers -- not that she can see it, but somehow, he knows that she'll know what he's looking at -- and he tilts his head.

Curls another finger inside her.

Watches her expression.

Strokes.]

[The feeling of him watching her is almost unbearable. Her whole body feels like it's been split open: her legs spread on either side of him, unable to close or hide, arms around his shoulders, and now she's trembling, sightless, dizzy with arousal and he's staring at her as he slowly fills her up.

Her face crumples with the motion of his fingers; she wants to hide from him, somehow, but his eyes are red and intent and her spine curves like she's attached to a live wire, eyes squeezed closed, lips sucked in.

It's too much.

She licks his bottom lip, and then kisses him, hard and hot. Her fingertips press into his shoulderblades, fingers angled to keep her claws as far away from his flesh as possible. Words don't form right, so she whimpers into his mouth instead, giddy with pleasure and excitement and hungry for more.]

[He'd be a god damn liar if he said that there isn't something terribly hot about it. Terribly hot in how she's held over him, with legs spread and skin bare. Terribly hot in the way that her face scrunches when he curls one finger, compared to the way it scrunches when he curls both. Would it hurt if he went for three? As much as he wants to know, he doesn't indulge the curiosity.

(Yet.)

The sudden kiss is a little startling, and he makes an automatic, strained sound in the back of his throat. It's almost a struggle to keep up with it, if he's honest with himself.

... slick.

He leaves a sharp nip on her bottom lip as retracts his fingers and slicks them over his cock. There's a joke about smurf dicks in there, somewhere, but it goes unsaid as he reaches her hand to get her fingers around him again.

A sharp inhale. A murmur.

(Oh my fuck, yes.)

A shiver works its way down his back, and he dives back in to kiss her again, this time not hesitating to curl two fingers inside her again.

Like playing a beat.]

[It feels like finally figuring out a rhythm, a way to relax and move with each other. It's right, it's good, and she trills into his mouth happily, her wrist automatically falling into a rhythm--up and down, squeeze, thumb pressing into the slit at the top, slicking around the wetness that beads out. His fingers move steadier, bolder as he gets used to his own actions; he moves faster and she's focusing less on her hips twitching to alleviate the gut-wrenching need, more on her thighs trembling, more on her nook clenching around his fingers, the taste of his blood-swollen lips on her tongue.]

That's good, pretty boy, just like that, [she mumbles into his cheek, mouth damp.] Use another. Yeah. [Her fingers tighten on a downstroke, firm and controlled.

Pulsing, panting, wet and warm, flat teeth and the taste of a faint, caramel covered freckle on the edge of his upper lip. Their hands moving in tandem, a harmonizing beat.]

Yeah.

[She wonders what it's going to feel like.]

[Up.

(Wet.)

Down.

(Slick.)

Squeeze.

(Jesus he can hear it.)

He inhales sharply and holds his breath; holds even when his lungs start to burn. It isn't until her fingers are tightening on a downstroke that he finally lets it out again, and when he does it's on this side of being a very low, very soft moan. More like a hum than a moan, really, but it tapers into a breathy sort of sound, and he breaks away to let his head fall back.

Fuck.

They can just do this, right?

His brow furrows as he brings his head back down to give her a sort of hazy look.]

Jesus Christ... fine. Okay.

[There's no real annoyance in it. Or, if there is, it's more at himself than it is at her.

Still, he slips in a third finger, and giving her an almost defiant look that he knows she knows is there even if she can't see it.

Mumble, mumble:]

Goddamn distracting.

[There's no breath left in her lungs, and she's clutching him so hard her fingers are getting sore, but he's making this face at her, which is a little bothersome when her eyes are squeezed closed and her mouth dropped open and all he's doing is grumbling about her being distracting.

Her lower body pangs; her nook is being stretched, more than it's ever been before, and it hurts just a little--not too much, but just enough to be weird.

And he's bitching about something or other. Gog-damn.] Shut. The fuck-- ngh. [She buries her face in his shoulder and pants harshly, clinging hard. There are no words for the way this feels, for how her jaw is gaping, so tense it feels like it's unhinging without her permission. Her position offers her almost no mobility, and in a haze of overwhelmed feelings and frustration she darts a hand down, grabbing his wrist, trying to achieve some measure of--

-- of control.

Shit.

She pushes his fingers further in, sucking in a sharp breath as the wider circumference stretches her more the deeper they go, then lets it out in a sigh when she pulls them back, feeling the strain on the walls of her nook alleviate slightly.]

[Jesus dick, he's going to come out of this black and blue by the time she's done with him. He shifts uncomfortably just as her face tucks against his shoulder, and after an audible swallow he tilts downward so that his cheek is resting gently on her head.

(A silent reassurance, one that isn't really made up of any real words.)

The arm around her middle tightens when she grabs his wrist, more out of surprise than for the lack of wanting her to have any measure of control, and he sucks in a sharp, shallow breath.

(The thumb of his free hand draws along her side; another silent reassurance.)

He tips his head down so that his lips are brushing near her ear with a light murmur.] Again?

[That's... what he's supposed to do, right?]

[The quick nod of her head, still against his shoulder, is accompanied by a strained whimper that she tries to abort as soon as it begins.] Mmhmm... slowly. Like-- like that. [She lets him go, feels the pressure return of his own accord.

Her other arm latches around him, her palm curling against the side of his skull to stoke his hair in jerky, unsteady fits. Her bonecage vibrates slightly as she begins to purr, trying to get herself to relax.

It'll be okay. She'll get used to it. It just needs... time.

Heh.

Terezi is sure Dave will figure it out.]

[It's... Frustrating.

Somewhere between wanting to keep going because his body feels vaguely like it's being drawn taut and he very much wants to relieve that tension building in his gut and shoulders, and wanting to stop because he's almost certain it's uncomfortable for her. She strokes his hair, and he tries to tuck closer around her as best as he can to allow him to keep touching her, with long, slow draws of his fingers. He hums, soft and low in the back of his throat before it breaks into a very soft shhh against her ear.

He turns his head to nose at her temple, like trying to get her to turn her head to look at him.]

[Give her some credit, Dave. Your girlfriend is very resilient.

She wonders if he knows the implications of shooshing her in the middle of sex, but - strangely, it doesn't bother her. Dave folds her in his long limbs and she lets herself be drawn into each soft, comforting sound, sighing a little more as the glide of his fingers goes easier. Terezi's head lifts, turning up so she can press a little kiss onto his jaw, her purring grown louder and more relaxed.

Despite her awkward position she rolls herself enthusiastically into his hand, letting herself dissolve into the growing comfort of the feeling. Her lips follow a line up his cheek as her hand drops from where it was clinging to him and squirms between their bodies. She wraps her fingers around her bulge, stroking until her breath is hitching again and the discomfort has completely faded.

There. She's fine. Only took a minute, and now she switches back to him, working her slicked fingers down in a few purposeful, confident pumps.

Though her lips tremble with gasps, her smile is sharp against his skin.] Okay, [she whispers, lips catching on the swell of his cheekbone.] Now spread them, like-- kind of switch-- [She's cut off by a quick, surprised moan as his fingers press just right at the top of her nook, rubbing against the very base of her bulge inside her.] Keep doing that, [Terezi instructs through tightly gritted teeth. Her palm cradles the side of his head, holding him close as she leans into him.]

[He has no fucking clue. What he does know is that she's squirming and tugging and purring and curling tighter around him, and he's not sure if it's because this is right, or wrong, or if they've both just lost their goddamn minds--

-- she lifts her head, and so he instinctively tips his own back so her lips can catch his skin; it leaves the air more than a little ragged in his lungs. Her purring is louder, now, and it's getting harder and harder to question it anymore.]

Ffffuck -- [The word escapes him in something of an upturned squeak as he lets his head fall back and peers up at the slithery light from the lava lamp cast onto the ceiling.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He's forgotten what he was going to say after that; it doesn't matter anymore. In one swift movement, all of the tension bleeds from his shoulders as he surges forward, mouth crashing against hers, and fingers slicking at a gradually increasing pace, and air leaving him in quick, shuddered pants. His free hand, once again, cards into her hair and clenches, like pawing for some kind of purchase because holy shit if she keeps doing that it's not going to be just her staining his couch.

He makes a very soft, breathy sort of sound (almost a whimper, but perhaps closer to a gasp) against her lips as he tries to shift into her hand again, falling short because they're too close to do anything else but flop around like dead fish. The sound dissolves into something that's more than a little frustrated, and he lets his forehead rest against her shoulder again.]

[Her knees clamp tight around his torso, fingers knotting to match his. Terezi's entire torso is trembling like she's balancing on a wire, and maybe she is, maybe they both are, with the taste of him on her tongue and their faces hidden, her mouth on his neck-- Gog, there's sweat at the base of his hair, dampening her fingers. She can taste the shivering of his muscles.

Everything goes a bit hazy, a fuzz of sensation and every little thing about him that she adores and despises, clear in a wash of colour and detail and smell and taste, and it's not until her calves lock and her toes curl in and her feet scrunch up that a jagged gasp tears from her thoratic cavity and she pulls her mouth away from his neck, pulling him to her urgently by the hand in his hair.] Stop, oh my god, stop, stop-- [She tries to kiss him and misses, but it still hits skin so she barely notices.]

If we're going to do this, it's now or never. [Terezi honestly doesn't think she can wait any longer, they're naked and worn raw and trembling; as ready as they're going to be.

She sneaks a quick peek down between them, at her hand wrapped around his cock, at the size of it, at how it's still kind of dry despite a faint shimmer of teal and some glossy fluid beading up at the tip. The examination switches to her own anatomy: his wrist, strong and lined with skinny tendons, a little bit scarred, tucked low between her thighs, bulge entwined around his wrist and thumb and his fingers absolutely soaked in teal genetic material. Terezi combines the images into one, rolls it around in her pan, and then lightly strokes her palm from his elbow to the ball of his hand, squeezes gently.

Removes his fingers from inside her with a long shiver and a regretful moan, takes his hand to his own bulge and kisses him hard as she slides both of their hands down his length.

Never isn't an option, she decides. And all that leaves is now.]

[Stop, oh my god, stop, stop-- he almost doesn't register what she's saying, between keeping his head tucked against her shoulder and concentrating on the task at hand. Everything about him stills instantly, and he lifts his head to look at her.

-- and then she's suddenly kissing him. Well. She's more kissing just shy of the corner of his mouth. He tips his head just enough to compensate, catches her lips between his, almost daring. The kiss is clumsy, and he can taste the sweat beading along his top lip, and she's mumbling something and --

He stills.

If we're going to do this...]

Yeah.

[His hand falls slack, allowing her to move it of his own accord. He ducks his head down again, breaking the kiss as she slicks their hands over his length, and nuzzles against her neck with a shudder.] ... yeah. Okay.

[There's a pause where he's just breathing against her skin, breathing her in. He doesn't lift his head when he speaks, so his voice comes out a little soft and muffled.]

So how are we doing this?

[The silence washes over her, and she takes that moment of quiet to press a kiss high up on his neck, before leaning back. Terezi removes her hand from his bulge and puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back a few inches. She ends up having to roll onto her lower back in order to draw her legs in, allowing her to slide away from him.] Ow, [she comments, when pinpricks fill her muscles after she's been sitting in the same position for so long.]

Okay. [She gives him a wavering smile, nervous but knowing.] Here, move so you-- yeah. [Terezi rolls up onto her knees wincing only a little at the way her thighs make this awful schlick when she closes them together, and how with her sitting up a rush of genetic material makes its way down her thighs, pooling around where her knees meet. There's going to be spots on his couch--there already are spots of teal here and there, and they'll definitely need to be washed. Um. Later. Yeah. Ignoring the way her bulge makes sure that her stomach and the fronts of her thighs don't feel neglected on the "being covered with genetic material" front, Terezi guides Dave a couple degrees to his right, until he's leaning against the back of the futon.

Giving herself a moment to hesitate would be admitting weakness and would ultimately prove nothing in the end, so Terezi doesn't wait before slinging a leg over his thighs and sitting across them, settling her weight down about halfway to his knees and pointedly leaving a couple inches between her and the flushed, hard length of his cock where it rests against his stomach.]

This, [she begins, but has to pause to clear her throat.] Like this. [And she smiles, because over anything else, she's weirdly happy; comfortable and content by him, with him, wrapped around him. He is her matesprit and this feels wonderfully right, and if she's being honest she's a little bit giddy with excitement. Terezi loves new sensations, new experiences - and this is a pretty important one, she figures.

Her hand is only a little shaky--from adrenaline--when she reaches forward and strokes her fingers down one pectoral, carefully memorizing the landscape of ribs beneath his skin. After a moment of pause, she scrunches her nose and

lifts her hand

presses her fingers to the ridge of bone under her eye sockets

then draws a line from her eyes to his

and looks him dead in the eye.]

I read that eye contact has an important social significance to most sighted species. It establishes connections, whether hostile, maternal, curious, affectionate... For species who mate face-to-face, it's almost a necessary gesture in the establishment of fondness.

I can't do that. [Even for her effort, her corneas are just as blank and empty as they always are, pupils blurry and unfocused and hidden behind a wall of human blood-red scarring, a living burn.]

... I'm sorry, [she says, rueful and quiet. She doesn't pretend this is just about her blindness anymore.]

[Everything about him falls very, very still, save for the way that he twitches slightly when her fingertips graze over his ribs. It tickles. His brows furrow as his eyes flick between hers, like trying to look into both of them at the same time, and he sets his jaw tight.

He blinks.

His eyes become a little hooded as he glances down between them, at the sheen of the teal painting her skin and at the way he can see his own racing pulse throbbing in his dick. When his eyes meet hers again -- she can't physically see him, but he knows that she can probably taste the (nervous) anticipation in his expression.

What does he say to that? What can he say to it?

All at once, he's suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he's not wearing his shades. It makes him feel vulnerable, left abandoned in the bumfuck middle of a field beneath a circle of hungry crows; left in the middle of an empty rooftop with sword in hand, waiting for the first glint of steel in an inevitable ambush.

He glances to the side, at where the shades are sitting on the table next to the lava lamp, and hesitates.

Reaches.

Brushes his fingers over one of the arms.

Then finds the little dial to snap the lamp off.

The room descends into sudden darkness, which recedes as his eyes adjust. He can faintly see her, or more the shape of her, in the faint light of the city coming in from the one window.

(A small part of him wants to ask if this is what it's like for her. He doesn't.)

He reaches for her, takes her cheeks between his palms, and guides her back to him and into a kiss.]

[One, two, three--

Her hands cover his, and Terezi counts the seconds their lips touch. It's chaste, and slow, and gentle, and it makes her bloodpusher pound like mad. Terezi doesn't take her mouth away from his when her fingers curl around the flats of his hands, peeling them away from her cheeks; her lips part, sliding to interlock with his so she can catch his bottom lip between them.

She guides his hands down to her hips, smooths over his knuckles, squeezes just a little to make sure he won't move them before letting go. Reverently, she places one hand on his shoulder, then drops the other one to his stomach.

Breath shudders in her respiratory sacs like an empty courtroom with an echo. It's now. No time to wait. Moment of truth.

Terezi rises up on her knees. Her whole body tips forward until their foreheads touch; her fingers slip down through a thin trail of hair, curl carefully around him. Eyes squeeze shut--it doesn't matter anymore. Blackness winds around them but she smells everything, and Dave is a bright flaming match right at the middle of it.

Smooth, rounded, blunt and alien - it presses against the entrance of her nook, and Terezi breathes out an anticipatory little whine.

She's ready to burn.]

[She wants him to hold her hips, he wants to keep holding her face. He makes a little defiant sound as she kisses him, traps his lips, and he tries to lean forward in order to press deeper into it.

Movies usually employ one or more obnoxious tropes for the moment in which one's dick makes the maiden voyage into the Great Unknown. While Dave isn't naive enough to think any of them would actually happen, he still... wasn't sure what to really expect out of the experience. There's no music to reach a well-timed crescendo. There's no mind-blowing moment of sudden clarity. There's no instant desire to throw one's head back and yell out anyone's name.

There's just... a sigh.

Soft, muffled against her chin, moreso than her lips. His fingertips flex against her skin, as if he's about to take his hands away --

-- fuck it.

His hands come back up to catch her face, very delicately holding her in place to kiss her again. And when he can't, because it does get genuinely hard to catch his breath, he guides her head down so that his forehead and nose are touching hers. His eyes have to cross a little to keep focusing on what little of her expression he can see in the darkness.

He swallows back another sigh, and instead makes a quiet shhh.]

[Holy Jegus fuck. She's thankful for the shooshing. She needs it, actually.

Her whole scope of perception is a blur. It's more than physical, somehow. There is the physical--there's a whole lot of pressure. It doesn't hurt so much, but it's so deep inside of her, hard and present, far larger than even three of Dave's fingers. She can feel his pulse inside her like a second heartbeat running through her veins, living inside her, breathing, growing.

There's something else inside her. Emotions. A feeling of being enveloped. A long, trembling sigh.

Every muscle in her body is tense like a rock, both fingers squeezing tight into his shoulders like she'll shake apart and disintegrate into nothing if she lets go, even for a second. Everything is amplified, hyperbright, but almost blinding - she can't tell what she's feeling, what she's smelling. She wants to see him, but that doesn't make sense; she smells him just fine, she can already feel him, why is her mind producing that thought?

It'll stop if she starts moving, Terezi thinks. Her nook will adjust, it'll start feeling good again, the dizzying period of confusion will be over, but she can't move, she can't make herself unlock from this position.

She lets out a very quiet, confused whimper.]

[She's still.

She's still, and she's making this sound that he's not sure he's ever heard before, and he's not sure if he should be doing anything or if he should keep doing exactly what he is doing and just not do anything at all until she gives the green light.

(Even then, he's pretty limited by what he can do, seeing as she's on top of him, so at the end of the day he isn't sure what the blue fuck is going on now.)

He lets his hands ripple down her neck and over her shoulders. The fingertips brush her elbows before they splay along her hips, and then his arms slide around her as he leans forward to tuck his face against the crook of her neck.

There are a lot of things he could say. We can stop, mostly, or maybe something a little more reassuring, but he can't really bring himself to say any of them.

So he takes a deep breath, lets out another quiet shhh, and waits.]

[It's not that it hurts. It's not that it doesn't hurt--but it doesn't hurt in a bad way, just a kind of promising one. But there's something else inside her and she isn't sure what or why and it's making her lock up, frozen and confused.

She doesn't know how to come down until Dave's arms are around her and she's been shooshed, still, and she finds the irrational need inside her to comfort him (herself?), so she does. Wrapping her arms around him in turn, Terezi squeezes tight and shooshes Dave back, trilling softly into the skin next to his ear. Linked tightly with him, their bodies in sync around each other, she finally finds the will to just--

It's just a little twitch of her hips, experimental and slow, but she sighs. The feeling of being connected is so weird but not-- bad, really. It doesn't especially feel good, but she thinks it will, she knows it will, she just has to get off her glutes and make it feel good. Terezi nudges herself up a bit before settling down again, and ends up breathing,] Shit, candy boy, [into his ear, low and raspy.

She finds abruptly that when she rocks her hips kinda just so, the pressure shifts and the little bit of friction feels really nice, comforting, so she ignores the strange invasive feeling and focuses on that, rolling herself down against him. She squeaks, far less confused this time.

A harder rut. She smiles. Her teeth lightly tug at Dave's earlobe.] How's my coolkid doing?

[He doesn't come away from the crook of her neck, even when she moves, mostly because he's pretty sure that his face is pulled into a rather unflattering look of concentration. Which is a dumb as shit thought, ultimately, because Terezi is blind as a fucking bat.

(She probably knows it's there anyway, dumbass.)

So it's experimental and slow, and while it isn't the mind-blowing experience that he hadn't really expected it to be, it's still pretty nice. Tight, slick, and perhaps not as warm as a human chick would be; but it's the pressure that draws a familiar sort of tension straight down his spine and to the bottom of his gut.

-- or maybe it's the way she rasps that pet name. Usually, he doesn't give it too much of a thought, because there will never not be a time when he won't associate the word "candy" with his blood in relation to Terezi and there will never not be a time when it doesn't border on the side of creepy, but there's something about it right now, in this moment, that makes his stomach knot tight.

-- and then the pressure shifts, and he inhales sharply though his nose. Okay, yeah, fuck it being pretty nice, this is starting to very rapidly teeter toward being pretty awesome.

He exhales just as he feels her teeth at his ear, and he finds he can't quite bring himself to tell her to watch the chops.] Hmm.

[It isn't much of an answer, and he doesn't care that it isn't. He tips his head just enough so he can press a kiss to the side of her neck (his forehead is cool from the sweat beading there, it makes the finer hairs along the crown of his head to stick to his skin) once, then twice, then a third time with a faint brush of his tongue.]

You okay?

Edited 2013-07-16 21:51 (UTC)

Who, me? [she asks breathlessly, a playful smile clumsily twisting her lips. The rhythm of her speech is interrupted by the crumpled expression on her face as she works out sensation and pattern and how best to lift herself up without falling off. At this point it's just unsteady rocking in his lap, but the feeling of him moving inside her, all warm and hard-- it's special, and she catches herself wondering if she's the first troll who's ever done this. Of course she and Dave would be the ones crazy enough to plunge headfirst into this wild world of interspecies fucking.

It's not bad. Far from it.

Though she's expecting a snappy comment from Dave--who the fuck else would he be talking to? the videocamera in the corner? ahaha-- she lets out a trilling sound in lieu of an answer, and then says anyway,] Yeah, pretty boy, I'm fucking--

[Jegus Almighty.] Fantastic. [Terezi breathes heavily through her nose and lifts her thighs and then drops them back down, gasping when he slides sharply back inside her. His tongue is so soft and warm against her cooling skin, she tilts her neck back to offer him more space to explore.]

Wow, [she whispers to herself, under her breath.]

Nah, just having a little chat with my dick.

[A kiss at her pulsepoint. Well, where one might be, anyway.]

Can't imagine spelunking into weird alien nooks and crevices isn't an entirely trauma-free activity so I figure a...

[His lips catch against her jaw with something that has a little more pressure than a kiss, and yet no teeth to really call it a nip.]

... pep-talk was in order.

[He kisses her cheek, though he keeps his lips pressed against it as he sucks in a shivery sort of breath and brings his hands back to her hips. The tips of his fingers flex lightly into her skin, almost like gripping for purchase, and he kisses her cheek a second time.]

Here. [Dave doesn't give her much chance to respond. Though the action is more like (experimental) guiding than anything, he gently sweeps her to him. It's met with a very, very light whine against her cheek.

Like that, maybe?]

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