thismaskiwear | Room 505, Tuesday Late Afternoon

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Room 505, Tuesday Late Afternoon

So one minute there'd been an attempt at actually, finally sucking it up, saying 'the hell with it,' and kissing Francine until she couldn't breathe as a prelude to other things that . . . would have a definite impact on breathing.

And then she'd been small, and fuzzy, with floppy ears, and NOT ADORABLE, DAMMIT.

Katchoo had been keeping up quite the mental rant about this in her head ever since it had happened, but being a bunny she couldn't exactly express it in her usual oh-so-charming way. Chewing on things, maybe, vented some of the frustration but she had a lot more of that built up than this tiny lapine form should have room to hold.

. . . that rant was still going, no matter how comfortable she was at the particular moment.

[OOC: For that girl. NOT YOU, RAVEN. ETA: This post might be kinda NWS now. WHAT?]

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Right. Not not staring. Well, kind of... not being sure where to stare, which counted, right?

Though the lily was kind of, you know. There. Really really really there and no less dirty than she remembered it just because it was on somebody else's breast. Ulp. Not just somebody else's but------

Oh God, Francine, just stop THINKING!

"I am so, so sick of this," she finally said, crossing the carpet with a surprising lack of falling on her ass for how quickly she was moving.

"Sick of what?" Because if she meant being a bunny, yeah, Katchoo was sick of it too.

Wow, Francine was moving fast. Right toward her. Note Katchoo's lack of moving out of the way.

Was that a closet door behind Katchoo? Was that supposed to be ironic or something as Francine reached for her shoulders, warm, totally not furry skin beneath her hands?

"Not doing this," she said, pushing Katchoo back against the door.

That closet door could be as ironic as it damn well wanted to be.

Katchoo, who never let herself get pushed around, backed up against the door with a solid thud and maybe, just maybe, reached out to put her hands against Francine's waist and pull her closer.

"Not doing this," Francine said, and then there was mouth on mouth, closed and then open and then about things with tongues, since that seemed to be a pretty popular subject last weekend, well, Francine might never have charged for what she was doing now but she had been Francie Firelight in another life, so yeah.

Choovanski, you idiot. She doesn't give a shit about how you used to get paid for this. That thought had been trying to jackhammer its way into Katchoo's skull for so long, some metaphorical drill bit company had made a fortune by now. If it had been racing John Henry, he'd be five mountain tunnels ahead out of sheer boredom.

Anyway, this was very strictly the exact opposite of business; there was nothing artful or calculated about Katchoo running her hands up Francine's arms while those tongue-things were keeping her too busy to comment. It wasn't gauged to apply just enough pressure to tantalize; it was something she just needed to do.

Well, she gave a shit, but only in that way where she kept wondering if maybe she might not stack up, and it was Francine so it was hard to shove that aside completely because she always wondered that, with everything, but...

Son of a bitch, stop thinking, Peters. Or maybe just say it to get it out of your head. "I want this," she whispered near Katchoo's ear, and then her mouth was on the skin below that, because what do you know, it wasn't all that interested in moving away.

Do you? Asking the question was almost instinctive. Almost but not quite, since it didn't get asked now even though she could. Even though there was nothing stopping Katchoo from pulling back and asking if Francine was sure, or telling her she better not be screwing around.

Just fingers sneaking beneath the hem of Francine's shirt and not hesitating not hesitating just trying to say without saying a word that yeah, she wanted this too.

Right. Yes. That. Also fingers sliding off Katchoo's shoulders to the part of her back that wasn't pressed flat against the closet door, which was awfully close to the part of her back that wasn't really her back anymore.

"I just... " And that sounded like something that might make Katchoo stop, which wasn't what she wanted at all, was exactly what she was trying to say something about. "I just need..."

There'd be a faint but perceptible shiver triggered by the path Francine's fingers were taking, if Francine was paying attention.

And there was warm skin beneath fingers -- she'd missed having those -- and a look in Katchoo's eyes that said she might just be hoping she could fill in the rest of that sentence with something that didn't in any way, shape or form mean stop. It also had something like a question about that shirt her hands were well beneath now.

Namely, do we really need this? Do we?

"Keep going." Which was - sort of - what she was trying to say. Close enough when Francine's breath was in short supply. "Just... yeah. If I don't know what to do..."

"I do." It was all she could say when her breath was a little hard to come by, and to underscore the words Katchoo's hands moved further up, very purposefully.

"Good." No, they didn't really need that shirt at all. It was plenty warm in here, and maybe some of that was the power being on again, and maybe not much of that was the power being on again.

"Good," she said again, but this time she was mostly talking to Katchoo's hands, or about them, or something equally nonsensical because hands.

Hands, yes. And then lack of shirts, and mouth -- a mouth, but the key thing was whose mouth it was -- on bare skin and maybe a light nip with no longer bunny-like teeth.

Maybe a decidedly un-bunny-like squeak, then, and maybe Francine's face turning a decidedly un-bunny-like pink.

And maybe Francine's hands deciding they had better things to do than flail.

And Katchoo's mouth taking an interesting detour to, say, a place with a lily-shaped scar that matched her tattoo.

If there was a distinct lack of warm breath against Francine's skin, well . . . Katchoo was holding it.

Her breath, that was.

If there was a distinct lack of silence, well, Francine wasn't holding anything.

Well, nothing except Katchoo's waist with one hand and her shoulder with the other, and herself upright through what might possibly be new and hitherto unexplored psychic powers because it certainly wasn't her bones, currently in the process of melting, doing the job.

"Francie?"

Unfortunately, some questions required the use of her voice, which meant the use of her mouth, which meant -- well, aren't you glad it isn't quite as cold as it was over the weekend, Francine, so that was more likely to be an interesting sensation than an uncomfortably cold one?

Hands? Still moving, though, as there were pesky non-shirt-like items of clothing still in the way.

And wasn't it an interesting sensation to have someone dealing with those pesky items of clothing who was actually used to them, had some idea how they worked, and wasn't terrified that one wrong move might launch some spring-loaded weapon at his head?

Not that it hadn't been a legitimate fear, but-- wait, that was a question. "What?"

And could have it unhooked and ready to slip right off almost before you realized it, even. Katchoo didn't mind the excuse to run her hands down Francine's arms.

"Do you wanna just fall over onto the floor?" It was a legitimate worry for her too, okay? Because Francine.

"Uh..." Francine answered intelligently, because Francine. "Um. I guess if you want?"

Ow. Snorting like that hurt a little when you were still getting used to not having a bunny nose any more.

"Bed. Comfortable."

That would require moving, though. And she kind of liked where she was, actually.

"You could've just--" She was considering sticking out her tongue but then her bra disappeared and she got a little distracted trying to figure out where exactly that went, and how she could keep talking and use her tongue for better things again at the same time. "Bed."

That would require moving, though, and she might very well fall over in the attempt.

Not to mention there were other items of clothing that Katchoo would like

gone now

, thank you very much, and while that was doable while lying down it was a pain.

Thus Katchoo, now, leaning against that closet door like her life (or at least uprightness) damn well depended on it, sliding her hands to Francine's waistband. No verbal commentary necessary here; at the moment it wasn't exactly

possible

So yeah, Francine was Francine, and that meant her own hands sort of stilling at that, because oh hi, but Francine was also Francine and determined to not let that be the prelude to a flail, or let Katchoo think it was, so...

So, something. So, moving her hands. That would be good. And maybe her lips, too, across Katchoo's chin to her jaw, and then to her throat.

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