[He can make a few noises, if he likes. Just nothing coherent. A mutter or two might even be expected if she's worked her way under his shirt to dig her nails into the small of his back, and she'll be there to swallow them up.]
[The catch of nails demands more than a mutter. He hisses, teeth tight, hips pinning her against the woodgrain. his hands are working over her outfit, looking for fastenings. He's adept at working blind.]
[She's a difficult one to pin down, strong and willful, the fact that she remains on her back is by choice and not pressure. Though there isn't a lack of pressure, back flexed to curve up into him, hips lifted to let loose fabric pull away from her. She'll let go of him long enough to pull the shirt over head, not much longer though.]
[Oh, he knows she could flip their positions if she wanted - he wouldn't complain. But while he's got this vantage point he's going to use it, and not just to press her into the table. His hands thank her for the revelation of exposed skin by exploring it. His mouth, wet from hers, hot in pursuit. Clothes seems like a secondary consideration: he leaves the shirt she's rucked up over his shoulders hanging open, but catches one of her hands (risking the claws) to bring around to his belt.]
[Her knees are tight on his hips, a brace while she gives the leather band two sharp jerks to loosen its catch. The buckle jingles when the line goes slack, clattering against itself when she lets it go. Her thumb finds his navel before the catch of his pants, running the back of her knuckles along his stomach, mussing body-hair that's soft under her touch. It's a gentleness that will find counterpoint in her palm making a cup for his balls, fingers closing tightly around around the base him through the fabric.]
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