#equal treatment

The afternoon sun beams down on you, providing a bit of warmth on the otherwise mild day. The birds chirp above you, and a slight breeze manages to slip over the garden wall to blow gently against the swing. You're about halfway through your book, and making little progress. 

You flip the page with one hand, it's more of a struggle than you'd like, but your other one is currently preoccupied. As is your lap, thus being forced to hold the book out in front of you for a less than pleasant reading experience. 

Moon hums to himself as he cradles your hand against his face, placing a kiss to your wrist every so often, only making the frown—and blush—on your face worsen further. His head is resting in your lap, the rest of his body draped over the remaining space of the swing, long legs hanging off the edge. He knows exactly what he's doing, based on the quiet snicker he lets out as you clear your throat.

When he shifts his grip to kiss further down your exposed arm is when you speak up. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Not at all. Pay me no mind, Sweet."

You grumble and continue to try and read, with little success.

Still, he acts as if nothing is the matter, continuing to nuzzle and kiss the length of your arm, grip firm, unrelenting, but not painful.

You glance down at him for a moment, and find he's looking up at you, knowing grin on his features. Without breaking eye contact, he plants another kiss to your wrist, snickering as this one causes you to shiver. 

Exactly, what he was doing.

You weren't going to give him the satisfaction. Not yet, at least. 

You look away, back to your book, settling back in to continue reading. Out of the corner of your eye you see him frown, annoyed. You keep your smirk to yourself. Served him right—

One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, caressing it. The softness of the touch makes you want to lean into it, especially as it slips to the back of your neck, cool fingers sliding up and carding through your hair, almost making you groan. Almost.

Your eyelids flutter open—you don't know when they closed—cheeks burning as you focus back into your novel. The fingers tighten momentarily and you realize you need to alter your tactic. 

With his focus on your hair, you're able to slip your hand free of his grip. Working fast, but oh so slow, you let your fingertips trail against the edge of his cheek. You know it works when he shivers against the touch. Bullseye.

You continue your touches, trailing downwards to trace patterns against the exposed area of his chest under his shirt. The hand in your hair tightens, trembling just a tinge before having to let go, falling back down to rest in his lap with the other. You huff to yourself, and dare to peek down at him for a moment. 

Moon's eyes are half-lidded, gaze unfocused, yet staring right at you. They hold a certain quality of awe in them that makes your heart jump for a moment. You become acutely aware of a low buzzing sound emitting from his chassis. 

Maybe it's the quiet desperation in his eyes at that moment, or the sudden bloom of heat in your chest, but you're compelled more than ever to give him what he wants. 

So you bend down to kiss him, Moon craning his neck up to meet you. It's soft, tender. In the beginning at least. 

Soon, he presses harder against your lips, hands coming up to hold you in place as he kisses you breathless. 

Once, twice, you lose count as he continues insistent assault on your lips. Not knowing what else to do, your hands cup his face, slipping back behind his faceplate accidentally and he leans into the touch, stifling a noise. 

After sometime, he's the one to finally break the two of you apart. His head falls back into your lap, steam rising from the gaps in his joints. You find yourself taking several deep breaths, and he lets out a quiet sigh. 

He takes your hands, and picks up your book, setting it into them with a gentle couple of pats. Then, he turns on his side, snuggling his faceplate into the fabric of your shirt and sighing again, a string of giggles following afterward. 

You blink, taking a moment to register what's just occurred, then shake your head. With a light scoff, you pick back up your book, but drop one hand down to the back of his head, fingers tracing patterns along the metal and in between the wires, not dissimilar to how he was playing with your hair just a bit ago. 

A low rumble starts to sound from him, akin to a purr as you continue to read your book well into the afternoon. 

Maybe letting him have his way every so often wasn't a terrible idea.

if you want someone to blame, blame @cozycitrus for causing this, that's all, back to my cave, scurries away

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