[Taking notice of the state of the room reminds him of his budding frustration that she's still keeping herself here in the first place, when she's had a much better option practically gift-wrapped and delivered to her. But there's a time and place to nag her about that, and it isn't now.]
Okay. [Malcolm takes the invitation to sit down beside her, casually scuffling the toe of his shoe across the floor in front of them. There are so many swirling uncertainties right now, he can't even grab hold of a single one of them. To say his brain is like soup isn't quite the apt metaphor. Maybe more like soup that's threatening to boil over. He lets out a frustrated sigh and twists his hands together in his lap.]
Listen, Eponine, I-- [Right. The whole... stopping thing. Malcolm gives up, cuts himself off there, and leans in to give Eponine that very kiss she'd been so patient in asking for, lips sealed to hers.]
[Eponine freezes. She has no idea what to do. What do you do? She knows what to do - but when a kiss means something? What do you do?
It's a solid beat before she breathes, before she kisses back. Her hands find Malcolm's in his lap and she twists her fingers with his. There's a tingling in her belly, a completely unfamiliar sensation and she doesn't know whether she needs to burp or laugh or just keep kissing. So she does. She kisses Malcolm, gently encouraging him to open his mouth, to deepen the kiss, to let her taste him. For a few moments, she lets herself close her eyes and lose herself in the sensation, in her imagination of being loved.
[As soon as Eponine coaxes him to deepen it, he does just that, unthreading their fingers so he can rest a hand on her shoulder. Once she drifts back from him, Malcolm opens his eyes, blinking as the room refocuses.]
I'm supposed to be the one who asks that. [A quiet, wry laugh.] But-- yes. Of course.
[He hadn't imagined her to be the type to second-guess her kissing. It's actually quite endearing. Malcolm smiles and moves his hand from her shoulder to sweep his fingers through a lock of her hair, affectionately tucking it behind her ear.]
[Because even if she thinks he's 'nice', he's also an 18 year old guy, and... well, yeah. He may not want to be a creeper, but he'll still happily take any physical touch where he can get it.
The compliment does make him smile though, perhaps a bit shyly himself. Malcolm turns his head to kiss the back of Eponine's fingers where she's touched his face, and his thumb casually brushes against her jawline.]
[She trails her hand down his chest and over his stomach until she can touch his waist. Gently, she moves away from him so she can pull off the top she is wearing. Beneath it, she's wearing a long line black bra that accentuates her breast and emphasises her slim physique.]
You can touch if you like? I'd like you to, you know?
[Malcolm watches as Eponine pulls back enough to take her top off. Damn, but that was unexpected. Unexpected, but certainly not unpleasantly so. He'd meant to ease into it with more kissing, but this is completely fine, too.
To match, he reaches behind his head to pull his t-shirt up and off, tossing it somewhere to the corner of the bed and shifting closer.]
You're really pretty.
[And he sounds like a complete moron. Great.
Malcolm's hands slide over her smooth shoulders, and he bends in to kiss her some more, light on the corner of her mouth. Then he's capturing her lips more firmly, and his palms drag over the swell of her breasts, rough fingertips dipping under her bra before moving around to splay across her back and catch hold of the fastenings there.]
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Okay. [Malcolm takes the invitation to sit down beside her, casually scuffling the toe of his shoe across the floor in front of them. There are so many swirling uncertainties right now, he can't even grab hold of a single one of them. To say his brain is like soup isn't quite the apt metaphor. Maybe more like soup that's threatening to boil over. He lets out a frustrated sigh and twists his hands together in his lap.]
Listen, Eponine, I-- [Right. The whole... stopping thing. Malcolm gives up, cuts himself off there, and leans in to give Eponine that very kiss she'd been so patient in asking for, lips sealed to hers.]
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It's a solid beat before she breathes, before she kisses back. Her hands find Malcolm's in his lap and she twists her fingers with his. There's a tingling in her belly, a completely unfamiliar sensation and she doesn't know whether she needs to burp or laugh or just keep kissing. So she does. She kisses Malcolm, gently encouraging him to open his mouth, to deepen the kiss, to let her taste him. For a few moments, she lets herself close her eyes and lose herself in the sensation, in her imagination of being loved.
And then she pulls away. Sheepishly, she asks,]
Was it right?
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I'm supposed to be the one who asks that. [A quiet, wry laugh.] But-- yes. Of course.
[He hadn't imagined her to be the type to second-guess her kissing. It's actually quite endearing. Malcolm smiles and moves his hand from her shoulder to sweep his fingers through a lock of her hair, affectionately tucking it behind her ear.]
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[She smiles shyly.]
Is there anything you’re not good at?
[His hand in her hair even for the brief moment feels so lovely. She reaches to stroke his cheek with her knuckles.]
You really are beautiful, you know, Malcolm.
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[Because even if she thinks he's 'nice', he's also an 18 year old guy, and... well, yeah. He may not want to be a creeper, but he'll still happily take any physical touch where he can get it.
The compliment does make him smile though, perhaps a bit shyly himself. Malcolm turns his head to kiss the back of Eponine's fingers where she's touched his face, and his thumb casually brushes against her jawline.]
no subject
[She trails her hand down his chest and over his stomach until she can touch his waist. Gently, she moves away from him so she can pull off the top she is wearing. Beneath it, she's wearing a long line black bra that accentuates her breast and emphasises her slim physique.]
You can touch if you like? I'd like you to, you know?
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To match, he reaches behind his head to pull his t-shirt up and off, tossing it somewhere to the corner of the bed and shifting closer.]
You're really pretty.
[And he sounds like a complete moron. Great.
Malcolm's hands slide over her smooth shoulders, and he bends in to kiss her some more, light on the corner of her mouth. Then he's capturing her lips more firmly, and his palms drag over the swell of her breasts, rough fingertips dipping under her bra before moving around to splay across her back and catch hold of the fastenings there.]