It's several minutes before she decides they've had enough kisses to get her through dinner, so she takes one more minute just to be extra sure. When she finally steps away, it's with a dreamy smile and a sigh.
"You and the gods will just have to agree to disagree about that one," he
replies. One god in particular, though he hasn't ever heard any of the
others singing his praises, so the point still stands. "But your opinion is
far more important than theirs could ever be. You are my entire world."
Harley sighs again and makes a very unconvincing show of being annoyed.
"My goodness, Gale! How am I ever supposed to stop kissing you when you keep being extremely kissable?" She slides her arms around his shoulders and slots her mouth over his again, savoring his lips instead of dinner.
"If that's the rub, then I fear we might just have to go hungry indefinitely," he agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in close for more kisses. They both know that reheating dinner isn't going to dry that chicken out any more than it already is. He reaches down to grab her thighs and lift them to wrap her legs around his waist.
"All I like, hm?" She raises a challenging brow. Well, if he says so! She presses her hand to the front of his trousers and strokes him through the fabric.
He makes a strangled noise of surprise, stiffening in his limbs and in... other places. "Should have anticipated that one honestly," he breathes, focusing on not enjoying himself too much. "Careful..."
With her legs still around him and her hand trapped between their hips, there's not really enough range of motion to do more than tease.
"I'll stop if you want me to," she promises between kisses against his throat. She laps at his pulse. "But what I want is to get on my knees. Just a little. Just a taste."
He knows exactly how much she wants it. He was just inside her head.
Gale closes his eyes, focused equally on the pleasure and on not enjoying
that pleasure too much. "I thought you said wanted to do that after
receiving the contents of the box, so you might die without regrets," he
says, breath fluttery.
He comes around behind her to tuck her chair in for her, ever the
gentleman, except he leans down so that his mouth is so close that it
brushes the shell of her ear.
"After dinner and after the box... Well, maybe we can both die without
regrets, hm?"
He gives her that same look he have the fabric vendor, brown eyes big and
innocent. "Who, me?" His grin skews wicked, full of heated promises, as he
takes his own seat across from her.
Oh gods, what a monster. Absolute evil. She stretches her legs under the table and hooks one ankle with his to keep at least a little contact while they eat her criminally dry chicken.
Maybe it's silly, playing footsie through dinner, but that doesn't stop
them. The chicken isn't any worse than what Gale has had in taverns, and
he's honestly quite proud, telling her so multiple times.
When they're through, he insists on being the one to clear the table,
though mage hand does most of the work.
"Now, I seem to recall we had something planned for after dinner..." He
says, smiling as he teases. A gesture, and the little box appears in his
hands.
"No!" She slaps the box out of his hand on reflex, catches it out of the air in a panic, almost fumbles it, and finally pushes it back into his hand. "Not no, but, wait. Hold on! Hold on."
Harley closes his fingers around the box and drags him out of the kitchen, through the study, and out onto the balcony. She puts her hands on his shoulders, turning him this way and that until they are both in the most flattering light. She quickly fusses with her outfit and her hair, moves a step back, and takes a steadying breath.
Gale reaches for the bouncing box, but her reflexes are quicker than his,
and she has caught it once again and pushed it into his hand before he can
do more than reach for it. He laughs as she pulls him through the tower.
"Are we posing for a painting? It is customary to get down on one knee for
this part, but I don't want to ruin the scene you're arranging," he teases,
drawing it out as long as he's able.
"I just want us." He steps forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I want to build something with you." If anything, he wants to make this a perfect memory for her, as she's likely to live longer than him. He doesn't want her to burden herself for something she perceives as benefiting him. "What would make this a perfect memory for you?"
"You've said you want to do things 'properly' with poetry and candles and a full production."
Harley curls her hands in the front of his shirt and presses soft kisses to the corner of his mouth. Tucking them away like little secrets that he can save for later.
"All I need for this to be perfect is for it to actually happen."
He did do that, didn't he? Poetry and perfection. He was always so
concerned with being impressive, powerful and intelligent and charming,
that it never occured to him that it might be burdensome for anyone else,
that she might feel the need to contribute to the tableau.
"I did, I do, but you are so much more important than any of that." With
the little box in hand again, he takes a step back so that he can drop down
to one knee.
"Yes!" She says it before his knee even touches the ground, and presses her fingers against her grin to hold back any further outbursts. She gestures for him to keep going. She's bouncing on her toes from excitement that can't be held in.
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"Gods, you're perfect."
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"You and the gods will just have to agree to disagree about that one," he replies. One god in particular, though he hasn't ever heard any of the others singing his praises, so the point still stands. "But your opinion is far more important than theirs could ever be. You are my entire world."
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Harley sighs again and makes a very unconvincing show of being annoyed.
"My goodness, Gale! How am I ever supposed to stop kissing you when you keep being extremely kissable?" She slides her arms around his shoulders and slots her mouth over his again, savoring his lips instead of dinner.
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"Don't talk about rubbing when you won't let me do it. That's mean."
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"You can do all the rubbing you like, and I will happily observe," he replies with a wicked little grin. Dinner may as well not exist, at this point.
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What's dinner? Never heard of her.
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"I'll stop if you want me to," she promises between kisses against his throat. She laps at his pulse. "But what I want is to get on my knees. Just a little. Just a taste."
He knows exactly how much she wants it. He was just inside her head.
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Gale closes his eyes, focused equally on the pleasure and on not enjoying that pleasure too much. "I thought you said wanted to do that after receiving the contents of the box, so you might die without regrets," he says, breath fluttery.
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Cockblocked by her own past self. If only she could go back in time and throttle the bitch. She frowns against his skin and huffs out her irritation.
Slowly, reluctantly, she unwraps herself from around him and takes a proper sit at the table. She's pouting. The full sulk.
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He comes around behind her to tuck her chair in for her, ever the gentleman, except he leans down so that his mouth is so close that it brushes the shell of her ear.
"After dinner and after the box... Well, maybe we can both die without regrets, hm?"
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"I don't care how innocent you act. You are every bit as bad as I am."
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He gives her that same look he have the fabric vendor, brown eyes big and innocent. "Who, me?" His grin skews wicked, full of heated promises, as he takes his own seat across from her.
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Maybe it's silly, playing footsie through dinner, but that doesn't stop them. The chicken isn't any worse than what Gale has had in taverns, and he's honestly quite proud, telling her so multiple times.
When they're through, he insists on being the one to clear the table, though mage hand does most of the work.
"Now, I seem to recall we had something planned for after dinner..." He says, smiling as he teases. A gesture, and the little box appears in his hands.
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Harley closes his fingers around the box and drags him out of the kitchen, through the study, and out onto the balcony. She puts her hands on his shoulders, turning him this way and that until they are both in the most flattering light. She quickly fusses with her outfit and her hair, moves a step back, and takes a steadying breath.
"Okay. Go."
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Gale reaches for the bouncing box, but her reflexes are quicker than his, and she has caught it once again and pushed it into his hand before he can do more than reach for it. He laughs as she pulls him through the tower. "Are we posing for a painting? It is customary to get down on one knee for this part, but I don't want to ruin the scene you're arranging," he teases, drawing it out as long as he's able.
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"I want to make this a perfect memory for you."
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"For me?" He asks, tilting his head a little in her grasp. "Not for us? What about you?"
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"Do you want something else? Something different?"
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Harley curls her hands in the front of his shirt and presses soft kisses to the corner of his mouth. Tucking them away like little secrets that he can save for later.
"All I need for this to be perfect is for it to actually happen."
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He did do that, didn't he? Poetry and perfection. He was always so concerned with being impressive, powerful and intelligent and charming, that it never occured to him that it might be burdensome for anyone else, that she might feel the need to contribute to the tableau.
"I did, I do, but you are so much more important than any of that." With the little box in hand again, he takes a step back so that he can drop down to one knee.
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