[ The soft edges of his smile go a long way towards soothing her ire until it fades away—she still keeps up the appearance of it, though, a small pout on her face as she follows the pull of his hand and looks up again. ]
You enjoyed that far too much.
[ What a shit, but there's a twinge of fondness there. Instinctively, her gaze drifts to his mouth, before she catches herself and pulls it back up to his eyes. Maybe it's the mistletoe, but she feels almost... spellbound, her nerves humming in anticipation. ]
There is no need—I am ready. [ Which says—probably a lot more than she'd intended. Here, she angles her head upwards, a coy shine to her eyes. Almost challenging. ]
[ This sort of banter comes surprisingly easy now, though it certainly helps that the magic has instilled in him some sort of... boldness. Clair looks breathtakingly beautiful tonight, and it's not like Percival didn't notice (he may try to be a disciplined person but he's not blind), but right now, he finds himself oddly transfixed on catching her eye again.
He feels more than a bit of pride at seeing her smile return, little by little. ]
Of course I am ready. But what do you see me as, some sort of battle to be conquered? [ He chides her, but with enough self-awareness to know that this is exactly the same sort of shit he'd say. His smile is wide and warm now, and he cups her cheek in his palm, leaning down to press their lips together softly. ]
[ The touch of his lips swallows her reply—why, has she not already conquered him?—and takes her breath away with it, so that she nearly melts against him. The kiss is gentle and measured, but it draws her in utterly and doesn't let go—no, it's the gentleness that captures her heart, the puzzle-perfect way his hand fits over the curve of her cheek, the nearness of his body and the heat that radiates from it.
She finds herself shifting closer, seeking more, each movement a little boat that sails for his shores: her hands clutching the front of his jacket, holding him close; the tilt of her head towards the warmth of his palm; the slant of her mouth against his, so that she can kiss him more firmly. ]
[ There's something about the night, about her company, that makes it easier for Percival to relax and actually enjoy the closeness they're sharing, however brought upon by mistletoe as it may be. He knows that she is not delicate, that there is power in that small body of hers, but right now, the embrace he gives her is undeniably protective and warm.
Gradually, and only after the beating of his heart begins to still again, he pulls away. The desire to pull away completely and disassociate the situation, an inevitable feeling that has come each and every time the mistletoe affected him before, simply isn't there.
He laughs lowly, more than a little awkward and sheepish. ]
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You enjoyed that far too much.
[ What a shit, but there's a twinge of fondness there. Instinctively, her gaze drifts to his mouth, before she catches herself and pulls it back up to his eyes. Maybe it's the mistletoe, but she feels almost... spellbound, her nerves humming in anticipation. ]
There is no need—I am ready. [ Which says—probably a lot more than she'd intended. Here, she angles her head upwards, a coy shine to her eyes. Almost challenging. ]
That is, if you are.
no subject
He feels more than a bit of pride at seeing her smile return, little by little. ]
Of course I am ready. But what do you see me as, some sort of battle to be conquered? [ He chides her, but with enough self-awareness to know that this is exactly the same sort of shit he'd say. His smile is wide and warm now, and he cups her cheek in his palm, leaning down to press their lips together softly. ]
no subject
She finds herself shifting closer, seeking more, each movement a little boat that sails for his shores: her hands clutching the front of his jacket, holding him close; the tilt of her head towards the warmth of his palm; the slant of her mouth against his, so that she can kiss him more firmly. ]
no subject
Gradually, and only after the beating of his heart begins to still again, he pulls away. The desire to pull away completely and disassociate the situation, an inevitable feeling that has come each and every time the mistletoe affected him before, simply isn't there.
He laughs lowly, more than a little awkward and sheepish. ]
You're right. I wasn't ready.