His hands are timid and nervous on her back, fingers splayed out and he thinks almost frantically that they're like starfish. She rolls her hips, and he can feel her underwear on him, pressing against him. He shudders a little, lets his nails dig in and rake down. She arches, spits at him in that stupid language of hers, and kisses him - her tongue twines around his like it's what she was made for, and she rolls her hips down once more before standing. She does up her skirt delicately, flips him off and grins, then walks away. This is the fourth time this week she's done this to him, and he knows the next is when she will finally have mercy on him.