To be given a chance to correct his dearth of human affection propelled Slate to great heights already. The eagerness was enough that he needed to invoke conscious control to avoid ruining the thin chemistry that brewed between them. Slate followed her lead with zest - he returned all that he felt with the best approximation of a kiss that he could manage, and hoped that Porsha found it to acceptable standard. He reached for her then, for the hips that often taunted him in their sway. He searched for simple cloth where time and again a general's greys and greens dissuaded him - where the thick, smothering command that her rank exuded had quelled all thought of it.
It reminded him, briefly, of a time spent in white uniform.
Slate felt nailed fingers against his jaw quite keenly and followed her recline without hesitation. Forearms framed either side of her to prop himself over the wound, and to avoid the slide of the violin to safer quarters. He appreciated the forethought given to his instrument - even if she never played herself before then, Porsha understood the meaning of the instrument to the player. This, he found, only urged him to push further in their relations - to push past full lips and discover deeper connection.
But that was Porsha's choice - he knew not how to lead, but he could reciprocate with new fervor.
Beejoux
should we FTB?
