There they were, the two of them, dark hair on blond, with twin glints in half-lidded eyes. Gone from vulnerable to hacked off to staring at her like... like that, in a matter of minutes. Right pair of bastards, they were. And John had the nerve to look at her like she'd be too bloody scared to accept any invitation he could dole out.
Kit's heart was beating a feral rhythm, and her hand was knotted rather tightly in the duvet at her side as she watched them, but John had one thing right; she wouldn't be the first to back down. So she stood -- slowly, deliberately, to hide any hesitancy -- and approached him, gripping the tie that still hung loosely about his neck. Pulling him close, she grinned, returning every ounce of his cocky challenge. "Still an oul' pervert, aren't you, Constantine?" she whispered, and she was near enough that her lips nearly brushed his as she spoke. Near enough to smell the alcohol on his breath -- or maybe it was hers, it hardly seemed to matter...
And then there was some wicked edge to her grin; and, still holding John firmly in place by the tie, she turned her attention instead to Crowley, kissing him just as slowly and softly as John had, though with perhaps a very different flood of emotion.
Served him right, anyway, teasing her like that, she thought, and caught the collar of Crowley's white shirt, shifting to gain a proper angle.
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There they were, the two of them, dark hair on blond, with twin glints in half-lidded eyes. Gone from vulnerable to hacked off to staring at her like... like that, in a matter of minutes. Right pair of bastards, they were. And John had the nerve to look at her like she'd be too bloody scared to accept any invitation he could dole out.
Kit's heart was beating a feral rhythm, and her hand was knotted rather tightly in the duvet at her side as she watched them, but John had one thing right; she wouldn't be the first to back down. So she stood -- slowly, deliberately, to hide any hesitancy -- and approached him, gripping the tie that still hung loosely about his neck. Pulling him close, she grinned, returning every ounce of his cocky challenge. "Still an oul' pervert, aren't you, Constantine?" she whispered, and she was near enough that her lips nearly brushed his as she spoke. Near enough to smell the alcohol on his breath -- or maybe it was hers, it hardly seemed to matter...
And then there was some wicked edge to her grin; and, still holding John firmly in place by the tie, she turned her attention instead to Crowley, kissing him just as slowly and softly as John had, though with perhaps a very different flood of emotion.
Served him right, anyway, teasing her like that, she thought, and caught the collar of Crowley's white shirt, shifting to gain a proper angle.