Following the shivers up her spine as John managed to undo her bra -- and honestly, it had taken him long enough to figure that one out -- Kit couldn't quite object as she was suddenly guided back, back until the bed was pressing into her legs and her knees buckled beneath her. She grasped desperately at Crowley, drawing closer to him than she'd ever really meant to; she'd rather been expecting John to put a stop to things once she'd proved she wasn't afraid. But John certainly wasn't helping, and Crowley didn't help much either, and soon Kit found herself on her back with the weight of Crowley's body over hers.
It certainly didn't feel as wrong as it should have, having John's mate on top of her. And his kiss was warm, with an exotic taste to go with dark, angled features: a flavor of excitement and life, places she'd never been, things she'd never done. She was almost remiss when he turned his attentions lower, his tongue snaking along the curve of her collarbone. But then she caught sight of John, drinking in the sight of them with an eager intensity, but with something more; something fragile and precious behind his expression that for one startlingly clear moment, Kit was sure she understood; but then she was touching his cheek, pulling him closer for a kiss, and whatever it was she'd discerned for herself was gone.
After a moment, she shifted, wriggling free from Crowley's attentions; not to pull away from either of them, but to let Crowley feel that same kiss. She guided John gently toward the other, remembering the inexplicable rightness of the moment their mouths had first met. Maybe she didn't know everything about John, and true, she didn't know what had happened to Crowley; but the one thing she was sure of was that John would want more urgently than anyone to make it right.
And he would, in the end, she thought, even if it was by no means other than what comfort he could offer his friend. Because Crowley tasted of far away places, but John... John tasted like home.
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It certainly didn't feel as wrong as it should have, having John's mate on top of her. And his kiss was warm, with an exotic taste to go with dark, angled features: a flavor of excitement and life, places she'd never been, things she'd never done. She was almost remiss when he turned his attentions lower, his tongue snaking along the curve of her collarbone. But then she caught sight of John, drinking in the sight of them with an eager intensity, but with something more; something fragile and precious behind his expression that for one startlingly clear moment, Kit was sure she understood; but then she was touching his cheek, pulling him closer for a kiss, and whatever it was she'd discerned for herself was gone.
After a moment, she shifted, wriggling free from Crowley's attentions; not to pull away from either of them, but to let Crowley feel that same kiss. She guided John gently toward the other, remembering the inexplicable rightness of the moment their mouths had first met. Maybe she didn't know everything about John, and true, she didn't know what had happened to Crowley; but the one thing she was sure of was that John would want more urgently than anyone to make it right.
And he would, in the end, she thought, even if it was by no means other than what comfort he could offer his friend. Because Crowley tasted of far away places, but John... John tasted like home.