[If circumstances were different she might go soft under the gentle press of his palm. Atop the warm heat of his chest and the dull, steady thud of his heartbeat. They're not, though, and as if remembering herself or more accurately the image of herself that exists out of necessity, she draws back barely a breath later. Fingers slipping out and away from his own.]
no subject
Tch. It's just the ass that matters, anyway.