[Shaw had been about to retort that her taste is great, actually, thank you very much; she has slept with some impeccable specimens. But then Carver asks his question, and squabbling with Root takes a backseat to sorting through the mental images that this suggestion has drummed up. She's not laughing. She is definitely not laughing. Give her a second.]
Hush, sweetie, we already know where you stand in this conversation.
[ She loves Shaw for many reasons, but really, there's just not a lot of people who would put up with Root's vaguely condescending and dismissive way of flirting. And she trusts Shaw loves her in whatever capacity she does, because frankly, who else would go to all this trouble to make the sexual scenario of her dreams? Root is such a considerate girlfriend. She knows what Shaw probably wants out of this and she's the one doing the negotiation.
Root smirks at Carver, stretching her legs out and leaning back leisurely in her chair. She sips her whiskey. ]
I won't even heckle, [ she says by way of answer, tone earnest. ] Might give some pointers, though, if you're open to it. I know how to read my girl.
[ Root, as she often does, seems perfectly content to arrange things. She’s got a tendency sometimes to say things seemingly to gauge the reactions or possibly just for the fun of it, a habit Carver shares and thus finds amusing when it’s aimed elsewhere. It makes things slightly more complicated in moments like this.
Even so, this doesn’t feel like a joke. Just a conversation they’re having.
He hums a little, considering them both. ]
It’s been a while, for me.
[ He’s not in any particular mood to explain why. But it ought to be said before this turns into something. ]
[Shaw punctuates this with a point in Root's direction, an exasperated look plastering itself across her face.]
No... sex commentary allowed, from anyone. Actually, you know what, never mind; I'm pulling out of this half-baked idea.
[This is absolutely not a serious threat. If it were, she'd leave the room. But instead, she stays put, and nothing about her body language or facial expression indicates anything but the most mild level of annoyance. Can you put up with their push-and-pull banter, Carver? Because that might actually be a prerequesite.]
[ That's practically a dare. Root pouts at her exaggeratedly, though of course on Root it's quite a believable expression until you know better. ]
I said I wouldn't heckle. You sure you're not interested? We can test that.
[ She places her glass of whiskey down, pushes her chair back, and climbs to her feet. She walks around the table not toward Shaw but toward Carver, expression open and mildly challenging, with a wicked edge like she's inviting him to pull a prank with her. ]
May I?
[ She's looking for a kiss, but is respectful enough to stop a foot away, not touching without permission. Root leans her hip against the table, facing him sideways. ]
[ This is the part, Carver supposes, where he ought to tap out if he’s going to tap out. They’re teasing the way he’d tease his brothers and sisters back when they were all playing infantry games, a familiar back and forth. If he’s going to flinch, best to do it now. They might tease but he doubts they’d push if he said no.
He watches Root move closer. Bright eyed and focused, as she always is. He takes in her expression, the jut of her hip, the way Shaw sasses back at her but doesn’t shut it down. Thinks, why not?
Really, why not?
He takes another drink, then sets his glass down with a definitive click and motions her closer with a jerk of his chin. ]
[Shaw has never considered herself to be interested in voyeurism. She's been in situations where someone made out with another person in front of her, with the aim of either titallating her or making her jealous or both; in every single one of those situations, it only ever bored her, annoyed her, or made her feel nothing at all.
This is different. Maybe it's because of who's involved, or maybe it's down to the intentions (Root clearly isn't trying to make her jealous, but Shaw also gets the feeling that turning her on isn't the only goal, either). She sits up straighter and scoots forward an inch or two on her chair, leaning in just a little. Continue, please.]
[ She's not trying to make her jealous in the traditional sense. More like she's relying on Shaw's sense of FOMO to kick in and get annoyed that she's being left out of the fun.
Carver's such a good sport, too, which gives him points in Root's book. She hadn't been totally sure how he'd take this -- the conversation itself or this direct request -- but so far she likes how easy it is, that he promised not to make it a big deal and then doesn't.
Permission granted, Root doesn't hesitate. She deliberately places one knee on the seat of the chair between Carver's legs, her hands settle on his shoulders, and she leans down and in. Root isn't deliberately commanding, but her unhesitating decisiveness almost demands everyone else come along with her or be swept away in her wake. You're either along for the ride or she's leaving you behind.
Their lips meet, hers supple from colored lip balm, and Root doesn't rush. She arches over him in what should be an awkward pose but instead comes across as coaxing, patient, a little teasing, fingers curling over his shoulders. How much does he want? She's good at reading physical signals. ]
[ This is uncharted territory for Carver, the sort of game he never played even before the world ended and certainly never this close to sober. In those days he’d either been with Riley or still in love with Riley after that door slammed shut and made him the kind of lonely that hung out in dive bars for a fight or somebody to yank him into the back alley; either way, the only kind of collision he could stand. He fears, quietly, that he’s got no talent for this sort of thing anymore. That he’ll only ever be a wound to other people and the least courtesy he can do to the ones in his orbit is not to infect them with his bullshit.
The thought is there. So are others, chief among them that he likes Root’s smile and the way she walks with her feet firmly planted in front of her, how every step is certain and she means to hold her ground against all challengers. And then her hands are on his shoulders, small but strong, and she kisses him almost gently. Not the way he’d expected, or maybe been braced for. Not with teeth.
Funny, that.
He’s still for a moment, considering that, and then his hands settle on her hips, squeezing faintly. It doesn’t feel awkward, not like he’d thought it would. He kisses her back because he can, because it feels good, and so little does these days. Well aware that Shaw’s watching and this both is and isn’t a game, so they might as well give it a good showing. ]
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-- Wouldn't be opposed.
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[ She loves Shaw for many reasons, but really, there's just not a lot of people who would put up with Root's vaguely condescending and dismissive way of flirting. And she trusts Shaw loves her in whatever capacity she does, because frankly, who else would go to all this trouble to make the sexual scenario of her dreams? Root is such a considerate girlfriend. She knows what Shaw probably wants out of this and she's the one doing the negotiation.
Root smirks at Carver, stretching her legs out and leaning back leisurely in her chair. She sips her whiskey. ]
I won't even heckle, [ she says by way of answer, tone earnest. ] Might give some pointers, though, if you're open to it. I know how to read my girl.
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Even so, this doesn’t feel like a joke. Just a conversation they’re having.
He hums a little, considering them both. ]
It’s been a while, for me.
[ He’s not in any particular mood to explain why. But it ought to be said before this turns into something. ]
Direct all you want.
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[Shaw punctuates this with a point in Root's direction, an exasperated look plastering itself across her face.]
No... sex commentary allowed, from anyone. Actually, you know what, never mind; I'm pulling out of this half-baked idea.
[This is absolutely not a serious threat. If it were, she'd leave the room. But instead, she stays put, and nothing about her body language or facial expression indicates anything but the most mild level of annoyance. Can you put up with their push-and-pull banter, Carver? Because that might actually be a prerequesite.]
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I said I wouldn't heckle. You sure you're not interested? We can test that.
[ She places her glass of whiskey down, pushes her chair back, and climbs to her feet. She walks around the table not toward Shaw but toward Carver, expression open and mildly challenging, with a wicked edge like she's inviting him to pull a prank with her. ]
May I?
[ She's looking for a kiss, but is respectful enough to stop a foot away, not touching without permission. Root leans her hip against the table, facing him sideways. ]
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He watches Root move closer. Bright eyed and focused, as she always is. He takes in her expression, the jut of her hip, the way Shaw sasses back at her but doesn’t shut it down. Thinks, why not?
Really, why not?
He takes another drink, then sets his glass down with a definitive click and motions her closer with a jerk of his chin. ]
Might as well, [ he drawls. ]
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This is different. Maybe it's because of who's involved, or maybe it's down to the intentions (Root clearly isn't trying to make her jealous, but Shaw also gets the feeling that turning her on isn't the only goal, either). She sits up straighter and scoots forward an inch or two on her chair, leaning in just a little. Continue, please.]
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Carver's such a good sport, too, which gives him points in Root's book. She hadn't been totally sure how he'd take this -- the conversation itself or this direct request -- but so far she likes how easy it is, that he promised not to make it a big deal and then doesn't.
Permission granted, Root doesn't hesitate. She deliberately places one knee on the seat of the chair between Carver's legs, her hands settle on his shoulders, and she leans down and in. Root isn't deliberately commanding, but her unhesitating decisiveness almost demands everyone else come along with her or be swept away in her wake. You're either along for the ride or she's leaving you behind.
Their lips meet, hers supple from colored lip balm, and Root doesn't rush. She arches over him in what should be an awkward pose but instead comes across as coaxing, patient, a little teasing, fingers curling over his shoulders. How much does he want? She's good at reading physical signals. ]
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The thought is there. So are others, chief among them that he likes Root’s smile and the way she walks with her feet firmly planted in front of her, how every step is certain and she means to hold her ground against all challengers. And then her hands are on his shoulders, small but strong, and she kisses him almost gently. Not the way he’d expected, or maybe been braced for. Not with teeth.
Funny, that.
He’s still for a moment, considering that, and then his hands settle on her hips, squeezing faintly. It doesn’t feel awkward, not like he’d thought it would. He kisses her back because he can, because it feels good, and so little does these days. Well aware that Shaw’s watching and this both is and isn’t a game, so they might as well give it a good showing. ]