[ Baby's always considered himself a romantic. Ever since understanding the notion of romance, anyway; he's wanted it. The full thing, flowers and chocolates and dates with dinner and a movie, and offering his jacket and holding hands in the cold and kissing a girl at her doorstep. Later on, as the years passed, the romance bled into thoughts of a more mature nature - rose petals on bedsheets and fire crackling in a fireplace, soft music in the background and Baby taking his time.
There are no rose petals, no music - no ringing in his ears, either - and no fire but the one raging inside his stomach when Isabelle kisses him, taking him by storm with every words she lets out. One of his hands move, down along her side, flirting with the curve of her breast, down along her stomach. He is still nervous, fingers just a touch unsure, but he pushes through, and touches Isabelle like he's wanted to touch her for what feels like years.
He pushes back on his knees, raising himself up to be able to look at her some more, to be able to put both hands on her body, framing her hips, thumbs just sliding under the elastic of her underwear. He looks into her eyes, tacit permission being asked in his look. ]
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There are no rose petals, no music - no ringing in his ears, either - and no fire but the one raging inside his stomach when Isabelle kisses him, taking him by storm with every words she lets out. One of his hands move, down along her side, flirting with the curve of her breast, down along her stomach. He is still nervous, fingers just a touch unsure, but he pushes through, and touches Isabelle like he's wanted to touch her for what feels like years.
He pushes back on his knees, raising himself up to be able to look at her some more, to be able to put both hands on her body, framing her hips, thumbs just sliding under the elastic of her underwear. He looks into her eyes, tacit permission being asked in his look. ]