[ He's aware enough of her nudging him out, but Tseng isn't sure if she's just taking control or if he’s letting her. It doesn’t matter, he realizes. Despite himself, he finds the hesitation he'd felt a moment before is lessening.
When he steps back into the living room, it's only natural that his gaze drifts toward the window again—toward the decorations draped around the frame, lights twinkling softly against the glass. Tseng steps up to see the street below and wonders what it looks like from down there. The contrast between the warm lights and the cold night, as unfamiliar as it is to have in his own apartment, must look festive. He turns away, dismissing the thought without concluding how he feels about it.
Tseng starts flipping through the TV channels. If he were honest with himself, he's only half paying attention. The sounds of Aerith moving about in the kitchen drift toward him. It should be distracting; instead, it settles into the space. His thumb slows when he lands on one of the predictable holiday films. It's not his first choice, not even his tenth. Being handed the mug, his fingers brush Aerith's. The cup is warm in his hand—the cocoa smells warm and sweet. Tseng stares down at the drink for a beat too long without taking a sip. He offers her an agreeably dry look. ]
It's good for not watching.[ Tseng sits down. He doesn't pat beside him, simply putting his hand on the seat cushion instead. He may be a useless tour guide here, but he won't make himself a terrible host on top of it. A glance up at Aerith, and he shifts slightly toward one end of the couch to make more room for her: ] Do you want to sit?
[ Cradling her mug of cocoa as he touches the seat beside him and then scoots away to give her space, Aerith lets her mug sit on a coaster on the low coffee table in front of the sofa, before she takes him up on that offered seat.
She also chases after him a split second later, shifting herself sideways until her hip touches his, and she's almost snuggled up against his side, a feeling that has her breathing out a contented sigh before she reaches for her mug again. As she carefully drinks, the movie on the screen unfolds. It's the standard; big city woman teams up with small town man to save her rural hometown while finding love along the way kind of story. Perfect for not watching, and seemingly in acknowledgement of that, Aerith's shoulder bumps against Tseng's arm, not so subtly trying to telegraph that she wants it around her.
Lowering her mug, she licks the chocolate off her lips, a lingering sweetness still hanging there when she turns to kiss his jaw, chuckling fondly against his skin before she draws away. ]
[ He's set the mug down just in time, it seems. Tseng registers the warmth against his side, her tucking herself in beside him. People exist around him in one of two ways: professional deference or measured distance—both of which Tseng maintains by design. Aerith should fit into one of those categories, too. But as much as there was ever a clear space between them, it has eroded long before this moment. Against all logic, he doesn't mind its current reshaping, either.
His arm is too still against the couch, and he knows what she's waiting for—the nudge of her shoulder is hardly subtle about it. Tseng moves his arm to resting it along the back of the couch. Then he lets it drop, fingers grazing the curve of her shoulder. With the predictable script playing out on screen, the movie is more or less white noise already. He can feel the barely there trace of cocoa on his skin. Or this is just Tseng choosing to let the moment linger beyond the actual kiss—like under the mistletoe. He lets a pause settle between them, as though ensuring he doesn't answer too quickly somehow. ]
It's not so bad. [ But he shifts. Tseng reaches for the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch he's leaning against. It's called practical because he can't call it a decoration, but he never uses it. Without looking at her, he shakes it out with one hand, then drapes it over Aerith's legs. His arm returns around her after, settling more fully this time. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. ] Warm enough?
[ If she wasn't absolutely radiating self-satisfaction already, the gentle weight of the blanket he shakes out across her lap, leaves her beaming against the rim of her mug, grinning too widely to conceal. Maybe they'll never have something normal between them, but Aerith relishes the times when Tseng lets her get closer in this minute ways. Giving her space to hang lights in his windows because it'll make her happy before indulging her with this movie idea and a cozy blanket.
She sets her mug down before his arm settles around her again, and watches him from her periphery, much as he does with her, humming pensively at the question despite the stupid smile settled firmly on her face. ]
Getting there.
[ Aerith shifts closer and draws her legs up, tucking them up as she situates herself snugly against his side and adjusts the blanket so it's covering them both. ] How's this? [ Her head tilts back as she asks, delighting in the way her cheek rests against his collarbone, letting her gaze up at his face, her eyes lingering on his lips while the thought of kissing him crosses her mind for what must be the tenth time tonight. ] Comfy?
[ The tiny bulbs of the string lights cast their golden reflection on the glass and Tseng wonders how long she expects him to keep them up—for the season, into the new year? Despite that rigid thought, he doesn't stiffen up when she shuffles underneath the blanket and against the seat cushions, close against him. His apartment has the heating on, yet warmth seeps newly into his skin. ]
Getting there. [ Tseng mirrors.
He exhales slowly and realizes only after the fact that he'd been holding his breath. The soft rise and fall of her chest aligns with his, and wisps of Aerith's hair catch on the fabric of his shirt. He's certain she already knows her answers before she even pretends to think of one. He decides the distance between them and she how to close it.
Tseng doesn't know what she sees when she looks at him like that, but he does know what she's waiting for. His hand grazes the curve of her shoulder. His lips press together. He glides his hand along the side of her neck. He tilts her chin up, thumb lingering just below her jaw. The soft glow of the TV screen flickers against Aerith's skin, but any pretense of Tseng's hesitation dissolves in her breath fanning against his lips. ]
[ By the time their lips touch, Aerith is smiling hard against his mouth, his sigh warm as it passes between them. In truth, she might struggle to put into words what she sees, if he ever asked, (and she's confident he probably won't), but she knows what happiness feels like, and it's been such a long time since she's experienced this kind of happiness, she doesn't want to examine anything further. When they're alone like this, it isn't difficult to imagine that just caring about him could be enough.
Tseng doesn't do logic any favors, and the fact that he seems so willing to lean into this spurs her along almost as much as the pull of these feelings she's only just begun to own. A soft, fleeting laugh gets smothered in that kiss before she brings her hand up to cradle the side of his face and hold him to it. ]
I can't tell if this is my present or yours. [ She teases after drawing back just far enough to catch her breath, the movie flickering on in the background, past the field of Aerith's awareness. ]
[ The concession lingers in the space between them. His thumb stays against the delicate curve of her jaw. Even if Tseng isn't sure what to make of the smile that curves against his lips—so sure and effortlessly bright—he is sure to enjoy it. The clarity of his carefully maintained distance seems to erode quicker the longer they remain in this quiet intimacy. It's hard to recognize the inevitable messiness of this when she's tucked so neatly against his side. He feels his own silence as something too weighty.
Her musing is rhetorical, he knows that, but Aerith's expression dares him to engage anyway. There's something undeniably inviting in her gaze, and something that unmistakably accepts in the way his hand drifts from her jaw before letting it fall once more to her shoulder.
Tseng pulls back, just enough to meet her gaze properly. His eyes flicker down to where the blanket pools over their legs, then back up. He tilts his head slightly as if to clear a sudden thought, and only ends up leaning into her palm. His thumb continues a path along the curve of her arm. ] It's generous of you to assume it isn't both. [ What, with them both being so indulgent. ]
[ By the time he draws back her eyes have narrowed fondly, until she's gazing at him through the fans of her eyelashes at first, the smiling curve of her mouth deepening. ]
I think it's alright that it's both. It's the holidays, isn't it? We should be unwrapping presents, and indulging.
[ She doesn't bother to act like those words aren't pointed, and while Aerith knows Tseng doesn't miss a single clue, she shifts smoothly into his lap right after she says it. There's mischief in those rounded, earnest eyes, and butterflies in her stomach. Part of her suspects she'll always be just a little bit giddy about him. He's important to her in ways few people could be, a fact that's equally complicated and beautiful, and for now just getting to treasure it is enough, without a need to look too far ahead or deeper than right now.
Green eyes drink in his face as Aerith lets her arm drape around his shoulders, her gaze flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again as she leans close enough to let her lowered voice be heard. ]
Do you want to show me the rest of your apartment? [ Aerith's hand settles on his chest as she asks, her thumb sweeping over the fabric of his shirt in a lazy arc. ] Or should we stay right here?
[ Her words do have the quality of something carefully wrapped, fittingly. A shift in the way she speaks to him matches how at home she is in his space. Tseng's breath stills, the smallest pause but no overarching reaction, when she settles into his lap like that. His hand instinctively steadies at Aerith's waist. His fingers flex, giving away more than he intends—she's completely unbothered by the things that make him hesitate. He can be blunt or covert; meanwhile, she hasn't asked him to want easily, only honestly.
The way she talks about 'unwrapping presents' and 'indulging' isn't lost on him at all. He suspects her definition of indulging is going to be very difficult to refrain from, unlike eating too many cookies or drinking too much spiced wine. Her fingers brush over his chest, where her closeness sets Tseng's pulse to a rhythm she can feel. ]
It is the holidays. [ Tseng concedes further. At once, he's past pretending he doesn't want the same. His gaze lingers on her for a long beat, then dips briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. ] The rest isn't decorated the way you'd like. Do you intend to change that first?
[ He doesn't mean just pine garland or a throw blanket. ]
[ From the familiar way his hand settles on her waist, it could almost seem like honest want comes naturally to him, and deep down, in her greediest, most infatuated moments, Aerith suspects it might, if Tseng let it, if their circumstances allowed it. Because here and now there's nothing but honest want, a desire that's glaringly apparent and worth drawing out with these teasing double entendres they exchange. If she had it her way, there'd be nothing but seconds worth treasuring between them. ]
You're in luck. I brought the perfect thing for your bedroom. [ The arms around him tighten in a brief little hug as she speaks, her tone obviously delighted, as though he'd finally brought up something she'd been waiting all night to share.
And, in a way, that's not entirely untrue.
Aerith doesn't want to, but she slides off Tseng's lap a moment later, stepping backwards towards the door as she keeps her gaze on his face, the color rising to the apples of her cheeks not at all from the winter air. With a little laugh, she turns and moves further into his apartment, not bothering to wait for him to catch up as she heads towards his bedroom, unbuttoning the front of her dress as she moves. The red lacy set of underwear she picked out, as festive as everything else Aerith's brought with her today, bright against her skin as she eases the straps of her dress off her shoulders just as soon as she makes it into his room.
Once again Aerith pivots on her heel, although this time it's not to back away and put space between them, but rather to do away with it entirely, her arms wrapping back around him just as soon as he's close enough to hold. ]
[ 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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no subject
When he steps back into the living room, it's only natural that his gaze drifts toward the window again—toward the decorations draped around the frame, lights twinkling softly against the glass. Tseng steps up to see the street below and wonders what it looks like from down there. The contrast between the warm lights and the cold night, as unfamiliar as it is to have in his own apartment, must look festive. He turns away, dismissing the thought without concluding how he feels about it.
Tseng starts flipping through the TV channels. If he were honest with himself, he's only half paying attention. The sounds of Aerith moving about in the kitchen drift toward him. It should be distracting; instead, it settles into the space. His thumb slows when he lands on one of the predictable holiday films. It's not his first choice, not even his tenth. Being handed the mug, his fingers brush Aerith's. The cup is warm in his hand—the cocoa smells warm and sweet. Tseng stares down at the drink for a beat too long without taking a sip. He offers her an agreeably dry look. ]
It's good for not watching.[ Tseng sits down. He doesn't pat beside him, simply putting his hand on the seat cushion instead. He may be a useless tour guide here, but he won't make himself a terrible host on top of it. A glance up at Aerith, and he shifts slightly toward one end of the couch to make more room for her: ] Do you want to sit?
no subject
She also chases after him a split second later, shifting herself sideways until her hip touches his, and she's almost snuggled up against his side, a feeling that has her breathing out a contented sigh before she reaches for her mug again. As she carefully drinks, the movie on the screen unfolds. It's the standard; big city woman teams up with small town man to save her rural hometown while finding love along the way kind of story. Perfect for not watching, and seemingly in acknowledgement of that, Aerith's shoulder bumps against Tseng's arm, not so subtly trying to telegraph that she wants it around her.
Lowering her mug, she licks the chocolate off her lips, a lingering sweetness still hanging there when she turns to kiss his jaw, chuckling fondly against his skin before she draws away. ]
Not such a bad night, right?
no subject
His arm is too still against the couch, and he knows what she's waiting for—the nudge of her shoulder is hardly subtle about it. Tseng moves his arm to resting it along the back of the couch. Then he lets it drop, fingers grazing the curve of her shoulder. With the predictable script playing out on screen, the movie is more or less white noise already. He can feel the barely there trace of cocoa on his skin. Or this is just Tseng choosing to let the moment linger beyond the actual kiss—like under the mistletoe. He lets a pause settle between them, as though ensuring he doesn't answer too quickly somehow. ]
It's not so bad. [ But he shifts. Tseng reaches for the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch he's leaning against. It's called practical because he can't call it a decoration, but he never uses it. Without looking at her, he shakes it out with one hand, then drapes it over Aerith's legs. His arm returns around her after, settling more fully this time. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. ] Warm enough?
no subject
She sets her mug down before his arm settles around her again, and watches him from her periphery, much as he does with her, humming pensively at the question despite the stupid smile settled firmly on her face. ]
Getting there.
[ Aerith shifts closer and draws her legs up, tucking them up as she situates herself snugly against his side and adjusts the blanket so it's covering them both. ] How's this? [ Her head tilts back as she asks, delighting in the way her cheek rests against his collarbone, letting her gaze up at his face, her eyes lingering on his lips while the thought of kissing him crosses her mind for what must be the tenth time tonight. ] Comfy?
no subject
Getting there. [ Tseng mirrors.
He exhales slowly and realizes only after the fact that he'd been holding his breath. The soft rise and fall of her chest aligns with his, and wisps of Aerith's hair catch on the fabric of his shirt. He's certain she already knows her answers before she even pretends to think of one. He decides the distance between them and she how to close it.
Tseng doesn't know what she sees when she looks at him like that, but he does know what she's waiting for. His hand grazes the curve of her shoulder. His lips press together. He glides his hand along the side of her neck. He tilts her chin up, thumb lingering just below her jaw. The soft glow of the TV screen flickers against Aerith's skin, but any pretense of Tseng's hesitation dissolves in her breath fanning against his lips. ]
no subject
Tseng doesn't do logic any favors, and the fact that he seems so willing to lean into this spurs her along almost as much as the pull of these feelings she's only just begun to own. A soft, fleeting laugh gets smothered in that kiss before she brings her hand up to cradle the side of his face and hold him to it. ]
I can't tell if this is my present or yours. [ She teases after drawing back just far enough to catch her breath, the movie flickering on in the background, past the field of Aerith's awareness. ]
no subject
Her musing is rhetorical, he knows that, but Aerith's expression dares him to engage anyway. There's something undeniably inviting in her gaze, and something that unmistakably accepts in the way his hand drifts from her jaw before letting it fall once more to her shoulder.
Tseng pulls back, just enough to meet her gaze properly. His eyes flicker down to where the blanket pools over their legs, then back up. He tilts his head slightly as if to clear a sudden thought, and only ends up leaning into her palm. His thumb continues a path along the curve of her arm. ] It's generous of you to assume it isn't both. [ What, with them both being so indulgent. ]
no subject
I think it's alright that it's both. It's the holidays, isn't it? We should be unwrapping presents, and indulging.
[ She doesn't bother to act like those words aren't pointed, and while Aerith knows Tseng doesn't miss a single clue, she shifts smoothly into his lap right after she says it. There's mischief in those rounded, earnest eyes, and butterflies in her stomach. Part of her suspects she'll always be just a little bit giddy about him. He's important to her in ways few people could be, a fact that's equally complicated and beautiful, and for now just getting to treasure it is enough, without a need to look too far ahead or deeper than right now.
Green eyes drink in his face as Aerith lets her arm drape around his shoulders, her gaze flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again as she leans close enough to let her lowered voice be heard. ]
Do you want to show me the rest of your apartment? [ Aerith's hand settles on his chest as she asks, her thumb sweeping over the fabric of his shirt in a lazy arc. ] Or should we stay right here?
no subject
The way she talks about 'unwrapping presents' and 'indulging' isn't lost on him at all. He suspects her definition of indulging is going to be very difficult to refrain from, unlike eating too many cookies or drinking too much spiced wine. Her fingers brush over his chest, where her closeness sets Tseng's pulse to a rhythm she can feel. ]
It is the holidays. [ Tseng concedes further. At once, he's past pretending he doesn't want the same. His gaze lingers on her for a long beat, then dips briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. ] The rest isn't decorated the way you'd like. Do you intend to change that first?
[ He doesn't mean just pine garland or a throw blanket. ]
no subject
You're in luck. I brought the perfect thing for your bedroom. [ The arms around him tighten in a brief little hug as she speaks, her tone obviously delighted, as though he'd finally brought up something she'd been waiting all night to share.
And, in a way, that's not entirely untrue.
Aerith doesn't want to, but she slides off Tseng's lap a moment later, stepping backwards towards the door as she keeps her gaze on his face, the color rising to the apples of her cheeks not at all from the winter air. With a little laugh, she turns and moves further into his apartment, not bothering to wait for him to catch up as she heads towards his bedroom, unbuttoning the front of her dress as she moves. The red lacy set of underwear she picked out, as festive as everything else Aerith's brought with her today, bright against her skin as she eases the straps of her dress off her shoulders just as soon as she makes it into his room.
Once again Aerith pivots on her heel, although this time it's not to back away and put space between them, but rather to do away with it entirely, her arms wrapping back around him just as soon as he's close enough to hold. ]
I knew you needed some color in here.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.