[That will teach him for showering. He can feel the stain, waxy against the line of his pulse, but makes a soft sound of protest before she can trail that mouth lower. His hands go to her shoulders, pulling her back toward him and plucking the loose straps of her dress to slide it down her arms while it's convenient.]
[There's an amused look, but she doesn't pause to think on it any more than that, just slips her arms free of her dress and wriggles the rest of the way out of it before it ends up tangled around her entirely. She had been polite enough to put on a pair of panties before going to have dinner with Eames (we're sure he'd be relieved to know) and that's what's left on her, black cotton low on her hips.
She presses her fingertips down over his mouth, just as stained, dragging color off to the side, but she's perfectly willing to remove them and keep to the established priority. The taste of the champagne has faded, but she supposes that he's alright on his own.]
[No, he doesn't protest about the press of her fingers (and won't about the stain on his lips, at least until morning. It does stop him from remarking that this is better, not mumbling words through teeth involved in closing down lightly over the first joint of her middle and index finger. Just assume it's implied in the eye contact made as he does.]
[Oh. She bites her lower lip on one side to fight against the lazy smile that pulls at her. She really would feel out the whole inside of his mouth, if he'd sit for it, and she's scootching in closer to him with a rapt expression on her face.]
[Who knows what he'd sit for, or lay for, as he is now, leaning back half way against the headboard - but there's something obscene about that absurdly pretty mouth, the press of his tongue against the pads of her fingertips as his lips slide to the next joint.]
[She shares his oral fixation, although in the grand scheme of things... with her it's just one of many appreciations. It had been fluids more than mouths when it had been Barbet, but Carla sees no reason to make that delineation like he did. She just twists her hand to pet the roof of Chase's mouth, the backs of his teeth. She's the one who makes a noise about it, a giddy little exhale of enjoyment followed by a squirm.]
[Roof of the mouth contact is less comfortable, closer to triggering a gag reflex as the attempts to swallow around her fingers makes clear. He doesn't pull back from it, though opening his mouth wider is an attempt to be more accommodating, eyes fluttering half lidded but still focused on hers. His hands, needing occupation, trace across her ribcage, nails edged against her skin.]
[She really wouldn't mind choking him, this isn't all that different from keeping his jaw prised open. She can't help it, even before her self-esteem was tattered and she started hunting for power in all the wrong places, she liked to be invasive, that just-a-little-bit too close to cause a squirm. There's something interesting to having it willingly though, something she had sort of forgotten about in the past half-decade. Her fingers curl against flesh, sliding from back to front, stopping with her thumb massaging outer gums.
Her hand trails away slowly across his chin, leaning in to lick the curve of his upper lip.]
[The sigh as she pulls her hand back is contentment, not relief. Perhaps it's not something he'd slip into so easily without the mellowing effect of alcohol, not anymore, but like all old vices there's a pleasure in reliving the memory. He smiles under the lave of her tongue and, in a rare, quick motion, tips his head up to kiss her back, hard.]
[Her inhale is deep, startled but quick to match him. Normally he wouldn't be able to catch her off guard at all, but her mind has been better geared towards the indolent since she had him pressed along her back. Instead, she's curved in along his side, twining her legs around one of his while she weathers that kiss, holding on at the back of his neck. It's fairly inevitable that once she's caught up she'll bite back at him, teeth catching and keeping for a moment, dark-eyed and possessive.]
[He hisses, and she's drawn blood. The tang is salt and metal in the corner of his mouth, pressed back against hers with flagrant disregard for anything fearful (or merely unhygienic) in the act.]
[This little game is tame in comparison to how she can be. She's has vampires and murderers and devils to play with when Chase doesn't want anything to do with her. (It's been better, less of a constant nervous ache and instead an occasional indulgence of cruelty when someone invites her Underground.) Her tongue touches the site long enough to encourage a small pink mess between them. Maybe it's not all that different a stain from the lipstick, but she can taste it, and she can feel his hiss. She presses him in tighter to her, fingers digging at his hip, unrelenting.]
[It's tame even in comparison to his comparatively mild experience, but that's not a disappointment. It's too warm a night for fireworks; this is enjoyable for being so languid. He takes the press of her body against him as an invitation to hold her, arms finding out the places where they best fit.]
[The huff she gives is not dissatisfied, just breathless. She's pleased to be kept close, she likes that swelter: half-suffocated, overheating. Her mouth is tingling, piqued and sticky, pliant while she gasps and demanding when she can concentrate well enough to make them. Her hands are similarly coordinated, raking up the backside where she already knows there are scars to follow.]
[There are, but she's left tracing the rough denim of the jeans he didn't think to kick off when she slid out of her dress. He's not thinking about kicking them off now, ether. Maybe he does live to frustrate her, still waiting for the meaning of stay up here to fully sink in. That doesn't mean he's not responsive to the touch, pressing his palms into the small of her back to keep her flush with him.]
[She thinks she's been very obedient to what she was told... But she'll always push, wondering just where he draws the line for 'hassling.' She's not built for contentment, there's always the urge to take more. Tactile as she is, it will frequently come in her hands: tracing out the layering of muscle, the cut of bones. She'd have put her mouth on half of him by now too if she hadn't been distracted from it. It can't be helped.
And in her defense, the button of his stupid jeans is digging in to her stomach.]
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Mhn. Stay up here.
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She presses her fingertips down over his mouth, just as stained, dragging color off to the side, but she's perfectly willing to remove them and keep to the established priority. The taste of the champagne has faded, but she supposes that he's alright on his own.]
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Her hand trails away slowly across his chin, leaning in to lick the curve of his upper lip.]
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And in her defense, the button of his stupid jeans is digging in to her stomach.]