That scene was so fun!

tweety wouldn't describe herself as possessive. but the moment that girl had placed her lips on blake's neck she felt a surge of jealousy so potent she cracked the glass in her hand. they're still--loose, no titles--but she'd also thought, no others. the realisation that she wants that terrifies her so much she silences the voices the only way she knows how. she takes blake's hand, and drags him to a bedroom upstairs. she locks the door behind them, doesn't bother with conversation, just pushes him onto the bed and straddles him. there's no thinking, no speaking-- she's too busy kissing him to deal with it, too busy tugging at buttons--wants a reminder that this is something, even if their both too chicken shit to name it.

she's frantic with it, let's the hunger take over, the pulse of need-- that part, the electric heat of them--is easy to give in to. but he stops her--redirects, takes control, slows her down. her hand is bleeding, and she hadn't noticed, the small cut on the inside of her palm. he lifts her head up and speaks, and for once she won't meet his gaze-- too afraid of how easy to read she'll be if she does. "why?" her brow furrows-- and she finally meets his gaze, with soft eyes. "in front of me?"