[ So, yes and no, she can only assume from those answers. What they did — the kissing, the coming, the coveting — Aki's telling her that happens all the time? And yet also saying that Denji is the sole variable that turns this equation on its head?
Consternation compounds in her wrinkled forehead. She tries to wrap her mind around it. The backhandedness of what she's saying, if it hurts her feelings that much at all. But the stamp of Aki's hand pressing into her face is like a manifestation of the mental obstacle she can't vault over. One, she clearly doesn't want to, seeing how after a moment she appears to discard her whirling thoughts in favor of nosing up into her palm, almost forcing Aki to pet her. Doesn't even mind the still shriveled feel of fingers pushing back against her rosy cheeks. The slick's nearly dried into her palm lines, stuck under her nails as something to be washed off later; it smells musty and dank, like she's been having sex. Is that what Denji stinks like, too?
If so, why would she ever want to get clean? The evidence that they held each other, felt each other through a breaking storm, why would she want to wash it off?
Ah, but if she really has to…
All of Denji's weight slides back with the push, splatting her bare bottom into the puddle darkening their floorboards. She grabs at Aki's wrist at the same swift movement, tugging firmly at her to stay. ]
But I can clean ya up right here —
[ She says fast, a little panicked, her words overlapping with Aki's. Her mouth yawning open, tongued already darting diagonally across the range of her knuckles, gliding in and out of each gap, prodding at her fingernail beds. She can do as good a job as any squeaky faucet. ]
no subject
Consternation compounds in her wrinkled forehead. She tries to wrap her mind around it. The backhandedness of what she's saying, if it hurts her feelings that much at all. But the stamp of Aki's hand pressing into her face is like a manifestation of the mental obstacle she can't vault over. One, she clearly doesn't want to, seeing how after a moment she appears to discard her whirling thoughts in favor of nosing up into her palm, almost forcing Aki to pet her. Doesn't even mind the still shriveled feel of fingers pushing back against her rosy cheeks. The slick's nearly dried into her palm lines, stuck under her nails as something to be washed off later; it smells musty and dank, like she's been having sex. Is that what Denji stinks like, too?
If so, why would she ever want to get clean? The evidence that they held each other, felt each other through a breaking storm, why would she want to wash it off?
Ah, but if she really has to…
All of Denji's weight slides back with the push, splatting her bare bottom into the puddle darkening their floorboards. She grabs at Aki's wrist at the same swift movement, tugging firmly at her to stay. ]
But I can clean ya up right here —
[ She says fast, a little panicked, her words overlapping with Aki's. Her mouth yawning open, tongued already darting diagonally across the range of her knuckles, gliding in and out of each gap, prodding at her fingernail beds. She can do as good a job as any squeaky faucet. ]