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Later worked.

But if she wanted sex now, there were a few things to address. Like clothing. Neither was wearing much, being that they hadn't even been awake for very long and were still in PJ's, but that made things simple. He leaned back so he wasn't supported on all fours, just his knees, and slipped his hands beneath the hem of her cami, letting his claws trail against her skin as he pulled it upwards to remove it. It was a start, anyway.

The cami was removed and flung...somewhere. It didn't matter where it landed as long as it wasn't in the way. He noted the reaction he got from claws on her skin and grinned wickedly, shifting backwards off her using one hand and his legs but let the other hand trail from her neck, down her chest and abdomen, claws lightly dragging as it went. He'd learned how to manipulate his hands quite well to compensate for the claws and avoid accidental injury.

This hand hooked at the waistband of her boyshorts. One of few obstacles in their way.

Chert stared unhappily at the blue-gray walls of duplex number 30. He knew it was just imagination, but they seemed especially tall and foreboding when compared to the walls of the surrounding duplexes. Unwelcoming. Accusing. Normally, he'd probably avoid the place at all costs, but even after a few days the chaos in the cafeteria had his thoughts jumbled and out-of-order. With every day that passed, the island had become an increasingly hostile place to be, and he was beginning to suspect that friends were a precious commodity, indeed. And of course, he'd managed to alienate the closest thing he had to a friend within his first week on the island. Chert had a talent.

What are you doing here, you idiot? he asked himself in exasperation. He wasn't actually knocking on her door, was he? Don't, don't, don't- Yes, he was! Goddamnit, it was too late to back out now. The man stood awkwardly on Antony's doorstep, one hand tucked behind his back, and wished fervently that he were somewhere else.

A brief twinge of annoyanced flared up as he noticed her attire- it was almost like she planned these things- but he kept his eyes stubbornly on her face. Antony hadn't exploded yet, and maybe that was a good sign. Or maybe that just meant that the explosion would be that much worse when it did come. Such pessimisitc thoughts caused his features to collapse into a churlish frown despite his good intentions.

"You have a minute?" he muttered.

Chert slid by her and into the room, noticing the beach gear as he did so. In this case, "a minute" seemed to be mostly literal, which further soured his mood. Half of him had already decided that this was a complete waste of time, and the sense of futility caused him a bit of aggravation. This was like trying to knit a scarf with a pair of batons. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from responding in an equally biting tone and held out his hand. Cupped loosely in his palm so as not to crumple the wings was a tiny butterfly. Its wings were mostly black, with two splotches of white near the edges as if someone had accidentally dribbled paint on the insect. Nearer the body, an iridescent blue glittered and shone brightly. It was pretty, but it was undeniably a... bug. He didn't offer any explanation.

The silence affected Chert in a similiar manner, although most of his annoyance was born from embarassment. She didn't seem to realize that it was a gift, so he shrugged a shoulder slightly and said, "I found it. In the jungle. Thought you might like it." It seemed as if her question for an explanation might have encompassed more than just the butterfly, but he wasn't quite prepared to get into that yet.

((Mrr, I apologize for my disappearance. There were some issues after dinner I had to take of in a timely manner. ): ))

Antony's acceptance of the butterfly released some of the pressure that had been bearing down on Chert. In his eyes, the butterfly gift was a little like an unspoken apology, the upside being that he didn't have to verbally admit that he'd been wrong. However, Antony's words made it clear that he wouldn't be getting off so easily. "I wasn't the one who-" he started to snap, but his jaws quickly clamped down and cut the rebuke in half. There was another pause as Chert took a breath and expelled it through his teeth in a short, sibiliant burst. His eyes were fixed somewhere a few feet behind Antony, and when he next spoke it sounded as if the words were being pried forcefully from his throat. "Maybe... a few of the things I said were... ill-advised."

"Goddamnit, I'm trying!" Chert said, although his tone lacked most of its usual heat. Antony hadn't tried to bite his face off or electrocute him. She wasn't a hulking mountain of fur and noise and fury, and he noticed she seemed to be putting a fair amount of effort into controlling her temper (after all, she'd refrained from kicking his a** on sight). But he wasn't in the habit of admitting he was wrong, and even the vague words of apology he'd spoken had passed over his tongue like vinegar.

Antony's command brought Chert's gaze reluctantly towards her face. "I'm here, aren't I?" he pointed out, sounding more like a sulky five-year-old than a grown man.