[ tseng lifts her easily, coaxing another amused huff in between kisses as she braces her ankles at the small of his back. clorinde doubts the distance would be very long even with the added rooms—he could have easily just led her to his bedroom without needing to carry her. but she likes the contact and the proximity, the weightless feeling of being held in his arms and knowing that she's safe, that he loves her as much as she does him. there will never be a time where she doesn't marvel at the feeling that comes with that knowledge—the repeated realization that there is someone, born worlds away from her on this day, who has become one of the most important people in her life.
when they reach his bedroom, she's already breathless and flushed from the alcohol and her growing desire, and she very nearly reaches up to undo the zip of her dress herself. but he said he wanted to unwrap her, and so she refrains, even if she does guide his hand to her side instead where the zipper is hidden.
he'll find the second part of his present beneath: a lacy set in a shade of blue that matches his cufflinks. it's not very elaborate, but she's always preferred simple designs, and she thinks he'll probably still like it anyway. ]
[ it's not far at all to the bedroom, actually, and tseng knows clorinde is more than capable of walking, but tseng likes to feel her pressed against him this way, and anyway—it's his birthday, shouldn't he be allowed?
(maybe the one time tseng will ever use that argument, in jest or otherwise.)
tseng sets clorinde down on her feet just at the foot of the bed and takes a half-step back, only just enough that he can bring his hands up between them to let her guide him to where the zipper is hidden away in the fabric. he takes his time undoing it, revealing the skin and lace underneath little by little. not wanting to just drop it—the dress seems nice, after all—tseng coaxes the fabric gently over clorinde's curves, kneeling as he goes until he can gather it all at her ankles and let her step out of it before setting the dress to the side.
and then... he stays on his knees, looking up at her. his hands move up her calves, her thighs, come to rest on her hips. clorinde is beautiful, absolutely captivating, a vision in perfect blue lace from which tseng couldn't possibly look away. ]
Ramuh, you're perfect. [ he leans forward to press his face briefly to her lower stomach, kissing down from her navel toward the hem of her panties. his fingers slip underneath one of her garters, a small, possessive touch. ]
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when they reach his bedroom, she's already breathless and flushed from the alcohol and her growing desire, and she very nearly reaches up to undo the zip of her dress herself. but he said he wanted to unwrap her, and so she refrains, even if she does guide his hand to her side instead where the zipper is hidden.
he'll find the second part of his present beneath: a lacy set in a shade of blue that matches his cufflinks. it's not very elaborate, but she's always preferred simple designs, and she thinks he'll probably still like it anyway. ]
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(maybe the one time tseng will ever use that argument, in jest or otherwise.)
tseng sets clorinde down on her feet just at the foot of the bed and takes a half-step back, only just enough that he can bring his hands up between them to let her guide him to where the zipper is hidden away in the fabric. he takes his time undoing it, revealing the skin and lace underneath little by little. not wanting to just drop it—the dress seems nice, after all—tseng coaxes the fabric gently over clorinde's curves, kneeling as he goes until he can gather it all at her ankles and let her step out of it before setting the dress to the side.
and then... he stays on his knees, looking up at her. his hands move up her calves, her thighs, come to rest on her hips. clorinde is beautiful, absolutely captivating, a vision in perfect blue lace from which tseng couldn't possibly look away. ]
Ramuh, you're perfect. [ he leans forward to press his face briefly to her lower stomach, kissing down from her navel toward the hem of her panties. his fingers slip underneath one of her garters, a small, possessive touch. ]