He let out a muttered string of curses--not directed at her, more to the general area of his lap--as she moves her hand back up to rest on his chest and loosens his grip on the couch cushion. "Silver lining," he tells her, "we're building a hell of a lot of anticipation for when this actually happens." When the time is right--and he suspects it won't be difficult to figure it out--he won't be surprised if they leave a trail of clothing in their wake as they at least attempt to make it to the bed to have their way with each other.

"Sexy Chicken is clearly a terrible game," he says, taking advantage of the fact that her lips are so close to his and catching her in a kiss, parting her lips with his tongue as he traces circles on her back. He deepens the kiss then groans into it, pulling back just a bit to shake his head. "I can't stop. I blame you entirely."