This had not been any factor at all in his mission to retrieve the dogs or his old belongings, but – well, obviously this was better, as outcomes went. And in a moment, this persuaded him that all Delia’s righteous anger and dispassion was half an act, and her old feelings for him had not just been killed off in the process of their separation, and still lingered there like embers of a flame.

Embers took some amount of patient coaxing, usually. But at the first awareness of her hands on his dampened shirt, the first flicker of success, any sense or prudence Hadrian possessed fizzled away. He wrapped his arms around her more fully, kissing her back with fervour. Surely they still knew each other too well to play games – clearly, she didn’t hate him as she might pretend to. This had to be proof that she hadn’t moved on entirely. Proof he had needed desperately, because he – hadn’t moved on from her yet either. (How did one move on, exactly, when over the years and across continents, it had only ever been her?)

“See?” Hadrian murmured, between kisses. He wasn’t sure how to word what he meant by it, see, you were wrong to leave me, you miss me, you want me – but after that breath he made no move to pull away, happy to keep going, to keep impressing the sentiment upon her until she was quite satisfactorily persuaded of it, in mind as well as in body.

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   Cordelia Emsworth

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set by bee!

It had been so long, but she remembered exactly how this felt, what to do, how intoxicating it was, especially now after going without. Delia sighed into it eagerly, responding with equal enthusiasm, ignoring his comment in favor of soaring on the feelings blooming in her chest. This was dangerous and she knew it. She had been the one to initiate the separation and there had been more than once that she regretted it, but he'd been insufferable through it all. It was such a mess, just like her feelings right now. At least she could drown out the noise for a few minutes.

Delia could feel herself getting sucked in, sinking into him all too easily and it left her reeling just as much as the kiss. Finally she broke away, hands still on his shirt, though not as tightly, breathing quick as she looked up at him uncertainly. Nothing good was going to come of this, she knew it, but she couldn't figure out what to say either. She'd kissed him, had let him get under her skin again and she knew that she would probably regret it, but right now she was too lightheaded to form a coherent thought, let alone sentence.

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