[ And now Shaw’s in front of him, all coiled strength and dark hair, her eyes watchful and focused. He’s always liked that about her, Carver thinks, but he never let it drift further than that. Sometimes he let his gaze linger for a moment but never any longer. Professionalism matters. Those lines, drawn ever so carefully in the metaphorical sand, matter. You have to know what you are. What your role demands and denies in turn.
But it’s been a long time since he’s let himself touch anyone like this, longer than he’d care to admit even if asked, and it feels good to reach for Shaw in turn. To know that Root’s gaze is on both of them now too, catlike and satisfied. He hadn’t realized he’d like that.
He watches Root’s hands on Shaw, holding her close, and thinks, all right. He hums and leans in to kiss Shaw briefly, testing the waters more than not, and then he leans back to shrug out of his jacket and then his shirt. Letting both fall. ]
[Maybe he's aiming for a brief kiss. When he starts to pull back, Shaw chases after him, stealing a few more kisses as he works his way out of his jacket and shirt. She's not particularly soft or gentle about it - her fingertips press into his skin, her mouth is hot and insistent against his - but she goes slow, savoring the experience. And once his chest is bare, she presses her palms flat against it, giving him a little push to tilt him back.
[ Root has never seen a line she didn't want to joyously, callously smudge into oblivion. Why do people keep limiting themselves? They only live once, and they're putting boundaries on it. It's a waste of time.
Being dead, Root can't stand to waste time, now more than ever. ]
Uh-uh, [ she whispers. ] Whatever you do to him, I'm going to do to you.
[ Maybe not in a perfect symmetry, but close enough. Root starts pushing her hands up, aiming to peel Shaw's shirt off of her, toss it to the side carelessly and set her teeth at her neck in tantalizing warning and promise. The tall line of her body curves over her like a vulture waiting for a chance.
[ Okay, then. Carver hesitates a moment, wary, but he liked kissing back in the day and he thinks he might still like it now. There are stakes here, but they aren't so high. You have to think of unit cohesion, how the group fits together and in what configurations. Jealousy's a poison best bled out early. But in the end, he doesn't think these two care about that. Their focus lies elsewhere.
This can just be a collusion. Momentary, pleasant, nothing much deeper. But Root's moving again, biting at Shaw's neck. It makes a nice picture. He presses into Shaw's hands, humming a little. Getting used to the sensation again. He used to like this part, too. A long time ago. And there's no reason not to try again, is there?
His hands find Shaw's hips, dragging up to cup her breasts. Why not, right? They can just be people for a little while. They can be bodies, all three of them. ]
[Root's whispered little promise pulls a moan out of Shaw, equal to the one that Carver elicits when he palms her chest (and this particular symmetry she likes, thank you very much). In other circumstances, with other people, it might have been embarrassing - but she knows that Carver is probably too busy reading too much into his own actions to give her shit for hers, she's long since moved past the point of embarrassment with Root. As long as she doesn't get too unbearably smug about how easily she can get Shaw to roll over for her, it's all good.
Someone less good at multitasking might put all her attention into doing to Carver what she wants done to her - or, alternately, would lose track of Root's intentions and focus solely on the man under her hands. Shaw doesn't have that problem. She leans her back into Root, but cranes her neck up, not breaking the liplock with Carver. She hooks a hand around his neck, holding him in place firmly enough to convey intentionality, but not so firmly that he couldn't easily break away if he chose to. Her shirt's off, his shirt's off-- and her other hand slooooowly trails its way down his chest and stomach, her fingers tracing the waistline of his pants. Just thinking ahead.]
[ Jealousy is the furthest thing from her mind -- if anything, she's thinking the opposite, about how to make sure this goes well. It's so easy for others to miss that Shaw doesn't actually want to be in charge all the time, and Root assumes most of her prior lovers have required training or otherwise been profoundly unsatisfying.
They haven't talked about it explicitly, but Root puts a tremendous amount of thought and energy into understanding Shaw, and she has a natural facility for human connection besides. She usually finds people tedious, but she wouldn't be such a good manipulator and identity chameleon if she didn't have a base aptitude for them. So although they've had sex comparatively few times, Root is confident she has an accurate read on Shaw's sexual tastes. Therefore, she's being quite deliberate in making sure Carver notices how Shaw likes things. He said it had been a while for him and he was open to direction; Shaw is amusingly bad at communicating; Root sees a perfect place to step in.
Mirroring what she's doing exactly would make for awkward body mechanics, which just gives Root an excuse to remove her mouth from Shaw's neck and replace it with a hand, arm wrapping around her and palm settling over her throat. She gives only a subtle squeeze, meant to tease and not take over the scene.
Her other hand slides down to tease lower, fingers slipping past waistline just as hers search out Carver's. ]
[ Okay, Carver thinks, smiling at that noise Shaw makes. He likes the way she cups his skull with her hand, holding him there. Not pinning, but directing him. And it's easy to follow; he's good at that. Easy, too, to watch how Root moves. To take note of how she and Root fit together, the ways they bend. The hand Root puts around Shaw's throat like a promise.
His stomach tightens but he squeezes Shaw's breasts again, figuring out what pressure she likes. Maybe she likes to be contained the same way he does, sometimes. There'd be symmetry in that.
He doesn't flinch at Root's hand. Just lifts his hip and undoes his belt to help her, because that's easy. ]
Don't touch my scars, [ he murmurs, because he knows they're ugly - that dappling of keloid tissue over his hip, the knife and gunshot scarring on his back. He can still feel things there, just muted. He leans forward and sucks a mark into Shaw's throat, just because. ]
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no subject
But it’s been a long time since he’s let himself touch anyone like this, longer than he’d care to admit even if asked, and it feels good to reach for Shaw in turn. To know that Root’s gaze is on both of them now too, catlike and satisfied. He hadn’t realized he’d like that.
He watches Root’s hands on Shaw, holding her close, and thinks, all right. He hums and leans in to kiss Shaw briefly, testing the waters more than not, and then he leans back to shrug out of his jacket and then his shirt. Letting both fall. ]
no subject
If he goes, she'll come along for the ride.]
no subject
Being dead, Root can't stand to waste time, now more than ever. ]
Uh-uh, [ she whispers. ] Whatever you do to him, I'm going to do to you.
[ Maybe not in a perfect symmetry, but close enough. Root starts pushing her hands up, aiming to peel Shaw's shirt off of her, toss it to the side carelessly and set her teeth at her neck in tantalizing warning and promise. The tall line of her body curves over her like a vulture waiting for a chance.
Perfect symmetry is boring, after all. ]
no subject
This can just be a collusion. Momentary, pleasant, nothing much deeper. But Root's moving again, biting at Shaw's neck. It makes a nice picture. He presses into Shaw's hands, humming a little. Getting used to the sensation again. He used to like this part, too. A long time ago. And there's no reason not to try again, is there?
His hands find Shaw's hips, dragging up to cup her breasts. Why not, right? They can just be people for a little while. They can be bodies, all three of them. ]
no subject
Someone less good at multitasking might put all her attention into doing to Carver what she wants done to her - or, alternately, would lose track of Root's intentions and focus solely on the man under her hands. Shaw doesn't have that problem. She leans her back into Root, but cranes her neck up, not breaking the liplock with Carver. She hooks a hand around his neck, holding him in place firmly enough to convey intentionality, but not so firmly that he couldn't easily break away if he chose to. Her shirt's off, his shirt's off-- and her other hand slooooowly trails its way down his chest and stomach, her fingers tracing the waistline of his pants. Just thinking ahead.]
no subject
They haven't talked about it explicitly, but Root puts a tremendous amount of thought and energy into understanding Shaw, and she has a natural facility for human connection besides. She usually finds people tedious, but she wouldn't be such a good manipulator and identity chameleon if she didn't have a base aptitude for them. So although they've had sex comparatively few times, Root is confident she has an accurate read on Shaw's sexual tastes. Therefore, she's being quite deliberate in making sure Carver notices how Shaw likes things. He said it had been a while for him and he was open to direction; Shaw is amusingly bad at communicating; Root sees a perfect place to step in.
Mirroring what she's doing exactly would make for awkward body mechanics, which just gives Root an excuse to remove her mouth from Shaw's neck and replace it with a hand, arm wrapping around her and palm settling over her throat. She gives only a subtle squeeze, meant to tease and not take over the scene.
Her other hand slides down to tease lower, fingers slipping past waistline just as hers search out Carver's. ]
no subject
His stomach tightens but he squeezes Shaw's breasts again, figuring out what pressure she likes. Maybe she likes to be contained the same way he does, sometimes. There'd be symmetry in that.
He doesn't flinch at Root's hand. Just lifts his hip and undoes his belt to help her, because that's easy. ]
Don't touch my scars, [ he murmurs, because he knows they're ugly - that dappling of keloid tissue over his hip, the knife and gunshot scarring on his back. He can still feel things there, just muted. He leans forward and sucks a mark into Shaw's throat, just because. ]