[ Tseng's hand lingers on the spot where she's been sat a moment ago, as if her warmth hasn't quite left. His hand lifts halfway before falling back into his lap. After a beat, and like he needs that hesitation as some final form of permission not from her, but from himself, he gets up. The silence left behind in the living room is no longer waiting, but expectant. He goes after the soft steps of Aerith's retreat, in the doorway of the bedroom just in time for her to turn. Red.
Color in a room he's kept blank on purpose. Slipping out of her dress like she's hanging up a coat at the door. It's very... ] Festive. [ And poetic in a way he doesn't allow himself to think—she's passing through his doors in a way she should not so easily be able to.
His gaze drags slowly from the floor to where the red lace breaks against pale skin. Gravity seems to pull laterally as she wraps warmth and intention around him. Tseng's hand draws a path up her spine, and his face always so carefully blank betrays the soft fracture of surprise in the line of barely parted lips.
Deep breath lifts his chest against hers. He isn't a man prone to being swept up. The silence is a held breath rather than avoidance. ] Aerith, [ Like a touch passed back in his voice. His fingers feel along the delicate hooks and seams. He doesn't look away, eyes dark. ] You make it a little difficult to wait. [ Wondering if he can start unwrapping gifts before Christmas morning. ]
[ It's not unusual for Aerith to be the brightest splash of color in any given space. Her determinedly cheerful personality aside, the flowers tend to set her apart– but she's never felt like she's lit up a room quite like she does with Tseng. While she doesn't exactly bring chaos to his order (he does keep a very firm grip on it, after all), Aerith likes to believe some of her light ends up rubbing off on him.
And while he's this close, it's impossible to think about anything other than relishing the impression she, and her surprise gift, have made on Tseng. One hand smoothes over the front of his shirt, fingers curling delicately in the fabric while she listens to him speak with those bright, unabashedly adoring eyes. ] It's the time of year for treating yourself, isn't it?
[ Raising herself onto the balls of her feet, Aerith's eyes narrow slyly at him, grinning before her chin tilts up, and she presses her lips against his. ] Don't worry. You're my gift, too.
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Color in a room he's kept blank on purpose. Slipping out of her dress like she's hanging up a coat at the door. It's very... ] Festive. [ And poetic in a way he doesn't allow himself to think—she's passing through his doors in a way she should not so easily be able to.
His gaze drags slowly from the floor to where the red lace breaks against pale skin. Gravity seems to pull laterally as she wraps warmth and intention around him. Tseng's hand draws a path up her spine, and his face always so carefully blank betrays the soft fracture of surprise in the line of barely parted lips.
Deep breath lifts his chest against hers. He isn't a man prone to being swept up. The silence is a held breath rather than avoidance. ] Aerith, [ Like a touch passed back in his voice. His fingers feel along the delicate hooks and seams. He doesn't look away, eyes dark. ] You make it a little difficult to wait. [ Wondering if he can start unwrapping gifts before Christmas morning. ]
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And while he's this close, it's impossible to think about anything other than relishing the impression she, and her surprise gift, have made on Tseng. One hand smoothes over the front of his shirt, fingers curling delicately in the fabric while she listens to him speak with those bright, unabashedly adoring eyes. ] It's the time of year for treating yourself, isn't it?
[ Raising herself onto the balls of her feet, Aerith's eyes narrow slyly at him, grinning before her chin tilts up, and she presses her lips against his. ] Don't worry. You're my gift, too.