Note: This is a sort-of kind-of prequel to "Goggles", and it's for ItalianRose, who asked to see "the first time she'd done that maneuver." ;)
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Her shirt slides off her arms and onto the floor with a swoosh of fabric and the tiniest clack of buttons on wood. Deryn spares a glance just long enough to make certain it hasn't landed anywhere odd, then looks forward again.
Alek is staring at her, eyes so wide that she can see white nearly all the way round. He looks pale and stricken. He looks as if he's likely to fall off the bed and join her shirt on the floor.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
Barking spiders, it's not her, is it?
She'd stripped off her shirt because, as lovely as it is when Alek works his hands beneath it and feels her up, she's dead certain it's going to be a thousand times better to have the sodding thing out of the way altogether.
But now she's wondering if maybe she shouldn't have done it. Maybe he thinks it was too forward of her; it's only been a few months since they've started this kissing business, after all, and Clankers seem to be skittish whenever biology gets involved.
Or maybe he's not impressed by what she's just revealed. Deryn fights the urge to look down at herself and, for one of the few times in her life, begins to wish her diddies were more than just a suggestion.
He swallows – once, twice, three times. "N-nothing," he manages, although his voice sounds funny, and she's still not too keen on his expression.
An uncomfortable chill runs across her shoulders (and her front, though she's trying not to think about that part of her, presently). "D'you – should I not have done that?"
"No!" he says hastily. "I mean – God's wounds, I – It's only that I-I wasn't expecting it."
Now it's her turn to swallow. I wasn't expecting it sounds an awful lot like I wish you hadn't. They'd been on the bed, kissing and having fun messing about – rather a lot of fun – and she's gone and ruined it with one quick maneuver.
She suddenly feels perfectly daft, sitting there with her shirt off. "Oh," she says. Her arms fold across her chest before she can stop herself. "Sorry, then."
There's a moment of silence. Just as she's thinking she ought to pick up her shirt and leave, he says, awkwardly, "Deryn – I didn't mean to imply that I didn't, um – enjoy it. You. I actually – I've been wondering for some time, I suppose, what you – ah – how you might look -"
"Alek," she says, cutting him off, starting to smile despite herself, "should I put my bloody shirt back on or not?"
"Please don't," he says in a rush, almost before she finishes the question. He takes a breath. "Please don't," he repeats, more normally. His eyes flick down to her chest and back up again, and this time, instead of looking poleaxed, he looks…
Oh. Blisters.
Her breath catches. Her arms uncross all on their own, and she scoots closer to him. She's intensely aware of her bare skin again – but now it's because electricity is crackling along every square inch of it.
"I reckon I can wait a squick, in that case," she says. Her voice sounds girly. Breathless. She doesn't sodding care.
Hesitantly, he puts one hand on her shoulder (of all the barking places). His palm is warm; the touch is gentle. He leans in and kisses her – once, twice, three times. Sweet and maddeningly soft.
He touches her cheek and clears his throat. "I would very much appreciate it."
Aye, that's her prince: still treating her like a lady even when she's perched on his bed, shirt off and ready to pounce.
She grins.
"Lower than that, Dummkopf," she says, grabbing his hand off her shoulder and moving it where she wants it. She's pleased to find she was right – it is better without fabric involved. "And maybe you could take your shirt off too, aye?"
"Yes," he says. He grins back at her, dark green eyes dancing. "That only seems fair."
She laughs and helps him along with that.