Oh my god, stop. [This time there's a certainty to his movements, a quickness to it that's blatantly ignoring all rules about touching and not touching and personal space and for god's sake, Fiona, you're making it worse. Rhys' hands fall over hers, tugging back to keep her from driving the glass in any farther without bothering to wait for her pending disapproval.] You can't even see what you're doing right now, but trust me, it's not good.
no subject