There was a word-prompt list floating around Tumblr, and mricj requested several Rosawatts fics. This one is "cataglottism", which means kissing with tongue.
It should be gross, really. It's been called "swapping spit", for god's sake; there is precisely zero sex appeal in a phrase like that. Also, theoretically, the gross factor should hold regardless of the situation or participants.
But it doesn't. That probably means something, something Eva can't parse when Neil's tongue is stroking hers, hands clutching at her back. So strange; there's no precedent, no formula to explain how doing this sends a drumbeat of want through her head, or how she wants to never stop, keep drinking him in, searching his mouth for more, more, more. Until there's nothing separating them. Until he knows nothing but her. Until–
Her burning lungs force them apart. Neil understands, though, the way he's panting too.
"You, you taste really good," he breathes.
Now she gets it.
She pulls him close again, until she can't see his eyes. "You're mine." One– where the tomato did that come from. Two– the rasp in her voice shocks her. But the way his body goes loose under hers, and the tiny gasp he makes when she presses her mouth to his again, seems to mean he doesn't mind.
She slides her tongue along his lips, and he opens his mouth with an ocean-deep moan, and she is lost.