Room 505, Tuesday Late Afternoon

[thismaskiwear]

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?]

Comments

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

She could mention it, but she wasn't. Mentioning it wasn't half as appealing as giving a slow, suggestive tug on that waistband with her teeth, letting the fingers of her free hand trail just beneath it, and raking her nails across the skin there.

The mental drumbeat of ohmygodohmygodohmygod hadn't let up yet. In fact, it was only getting faster.

[thatsamilkshake]

That would be Francine's fingers getting a little less gentle again, right there. Not the ones in her hair; she didn't want to pull it. ...Not much? But the ones laced with Katchoo's were less laced and more needing to move, Francine's thumb bending in to rub at the warmth of Katchoo's palm.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Right. The cloth of the underwear that elastic band was attached to was getting to be damn annoying now, all in the way like that. Katchoo let out a soft growl and hooked her fingers into it, tugging downward, covering Francine's skin with light kisses as she did.

The hand linked with Francine's flexed slightly, curving around to cup that thumb in her palm, and regrettably this was no longer a position that let her keep up that rocking motion with her thigh, but soon, hopefully -- she was resolutely squashing the tiny bit of lingering worry that Francine might have second thoughts -- there wouldn't be much to regret any more.

[thatsamilkshake]

If Francine was going to have second thoughts, they weren't happening now. She'd need to be able to have first thoughts...first.

Shift your ass, Peters wasn't really so much of a thought as a mostly involuntary nerve impulse that expressed itself a little rudely but got the job done, since it made the annoying cloth a little easier to tug down.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

It did. Oh holy frikkin' god, yes, it did, and the sooner Katchoo could get the stupid thing out of her way the better and --

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod all over again, and she had to pause and rest her cheek against the inside of Francine's thigh and just remember to breathe.

[thatsamilkshake]

Okay, that other hand that had been doing something in Katchoo's hair? Francine had absolutely no idea where it was now. She had lost track of a limb. Because you know what happens when someone has their cheek resting against the inside of your thigh and remembers to breathe? Yeeeeah.

(For the record, it was hanging out in the vicinity of her left breast, happily doing its own thing, and really in no danger if she wanted to come back and pick it up later when she could concentrate better.)

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Katchoo missed having that hand in her hair (and for the record would be more than a little distressed if it happened to end up completely misplaced somehow). There were other things, though, overwhelming her senses at the moment.

Breathing accomplished: check. Shifting up a few inches, which was next on the agenda --

Ohmyfrikkin'god.

Check.

[thatsamilkshake]

That was a check on the Ohmyfrikkin'god from Francine too. Minus the frikkin'.

It was also Francine's lost limb getting found enough to slide back and prop her on her elbow so she could Ohmyfrikkin'god this time with the frikkin' look. Why that seemed like a sane idea, she couldn't say, but then she couldn't say much of anything at all, just breathe and stare. And.... think a little guiltily that this wasn't the first time she'd seen what she was seeing. It was just that now her eyes were open and it was real.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

So real. So very -- heat and scent and taste and movement ohmygod -- real.

Not even Katchoo could stop to waste too much time thinking, immersed in all of that. Hard to stop and think when instinct and emotion had taken over, anyway, and she could angle her head just that little bit that way, inhale sharply, and run her nails along the inside of Francine's thigh.

Her eyes were closed, but as it was she was just that close to sheer sensory overload. She was about 99.8% certain that if she opened her eyes she'd turn to ash on the spot.

[thatsamilkshake]

...Not a super-power Francine had ever been aware of having, and as such things went, she'd much prefer flight or the ability to turn water into hot chocolate, but just in case, maybe you should keep your eyes closed, Katchoo.

Francine would do the watching for both of them. That, and shiver a little even though it was all heat, nails across her skin and warm breath there and... yeah. Okay. Maybe there was some risk of spontaneous combustion after all.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

That risk was mutual, so Katchoo would keep her eyes very firmly closed and just concentrate on what she was doing. You wouldn't think lips and tongue would take that much concentration, but they did. Or maybe she was just that focused. Or both, and trying not to think too hard about the fact that she was just getting started.

[thatsamilkshake]

So the watching thing... it didn't have to be constant, right? Because Katchoo wouldn't disappear if Francine blinked, right? Right?

Nope, still there. So maybe it was -holygnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah- safe to shut her eyes and throw her head back after all because it was that or stop breathing again.

There. Just red-flecked darkness and the sound of her own breath and also -holygnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah- that.

And a distant chirpy beep like she had new mail or something, but frankly even if it was telling her the school was burning down and they should get the hell out, she'd answer it later.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Chirpy beep? What? Not that one that sounded like it was rolling from under the bed and into the closet, as if Katchoo could even tell you that was what it was doing?

Katchoo had better things to do. No, not that kind of do -- get your prurient mind out of the gutter, at least about the terminology.

For the record, Katchoo had no intention of disappearing, not when she could wrap an arm around Francine's thigh, hitch herself up a little closer, and -- there. Contours to trace and all the right spots to tease and maybe if she just let her teeth scrape lightly right there . . .

[thatsamilkshake]

Then Francine could make a sound that someday when she was lucid again would have her tapping paranoiacally on the wall to see just how thin it really was?

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

If she really wanted to Katchoo wasn't going to stop her, no.

She might smirk a bit, granted, but stopping Francine was not high on the priority list. Or on the list at all.

Conversely, seeing if she could get Francine to make that sound again was up near the top.

[thatsamilkshake]

Francine stopping herself wasn't really high on the priority list. What with not having a list beyond

1. Moan
2. Wonder who set fire to every single nerve ending she owned
3. But especially in Certain Significant Areas
4. Writhe a little
5. ???
6. Profit!

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Profit? Mutual profit, maybe, since the girl who'd started the fire with the metaphorical lighter was enjoying this just as much as Francine was.

Francine could probably feel the way Katchoo shivered at the sound and raked her nails along a sensitive patch of skin; was that part of the profit?

[thatsamilkshake]

Maybe. Francine had lost track of the balance sheet somewhere. Maybe it was on the floor under the pile of clothes somewhere? Or maybe it got stuck in Clocky's wheels and he dragged it into the closet with him.

Either way, all Francine could be sure of was how very much she was not thinking right now. At all. It was just warm wet OH MY GOD THAT THERE HOLY-- SOMETHING. THAT.