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Meet Me In the Stacks

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"Can you be quiet?"

The question is spoken lowly, with an earnest honesty because all current data lent itself towards, 'No.'

He wasn't sure if his increasing heartbeat informed the concern; he knew it wasn't helping him keep a clear, rational-thinking head. Not when he's hearing the decibel levels they achieved earlier. And then he's certain he can feel their skin on his skin, even though there is enough air between them for that not to be the case.

The question is met with a knowing wicked grin that is slowly alighting their owner's eyes with the kind of mischievous luminescence that held desirous promises, ""

It's spoken slowly, and it reminds him of the slowness with which his desire and subsequent pleasure was drawn out. He's damn near positive it was asked that way on purpose. Regardless, he found himself staring at her throat, keenly aware of those eyes, wondering if a barely guttural moan was caught there the way he caught the one that would've answered her query with a 'No;' that would encourage her to see how unquiet she could make him.

He ached; and found himself answering with a smile that mirrored hers.