Flint gazes at him and then he inclines his head slightly and Silver takes this as permission to inch forward on his knees and pressing his lips to Flint’s left thigh.
Flint’s skin is damp and salt-sweet under his mouth. Silver presses another kiss on his inner thigh and then another. It’s slow, and methodical, kissing his way up the curve of Flint’s thigh.
“This is very sweet,” Flint’s voice is anything but amused, “but hardly the sort of talent I expected from you.”
“Just because you don’t appreciate a good kiss doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have it.” Silver says, dropping a kiss on his other thigh without looking up.
When Flint remains silent, Silver looks up then. The man’s just gazing at him with a puzzled furrow in his brow like he can’t make sense of Silver. Silver’s intimately familiar with that look. It usually comes right before someone gives up trying to figure him out and instead just beats the shit out of him.
Flint’s hand settles on his jaw, gripping him not ungently, but still forcefully enough so he can look more fully into Silver’s eyes. “What did you mean by that?”
from In Walked Luck & You Looked In TimeÂ
