She pulled her hands away from her face and shot him a look. "We could write them a strongly worded letter," she suggested, raising one eyebrow. "They'd never see it coming."
"I think it's best not to say anything. Wouldn't want to get in trouble." He laid back, arms resting behind his head.
She laughed easily, glancing over at him. "You, Francis Craw, afraid of getting in trouble? I never thought I'd see the day."
"I'm afraid of getting in trouble with higher-ups. Not anyone else," he said, shaking his head and flipping over onto his stomach, resting his head on his hand.
She turned her head to look over at him affectionately. "Hm. Well, in that case, I'll write the strongly worded letter. You don't seem to have much trouble in those meetings anyway."
"I don't. I just find them boring." He pulled the blanket over his head for a moment, before emerging with tousled hair. "They're alright, I guess."
She inhaled deeply before her gaze strayed back to him. She blinked slightly, and smiled. "It's weird to see you with uncombed hair," she said casually, turning on her side and rearranging the blanket to avoid contact between the chilled glass and her skin.
She shook her head slightly, closing her eyes as she rested her cheek on her hand. "Not at all," she said. "Quite the contrary, actually. I think it looks sweet." She opened one eye and smirked. "That might not be the look you're going for, though."
"You think it looks sweet? I can work with that," he said, slowly inching closer to her. "Sweet isn't bad."
"Mmm. Sweet is good," she replied, raising an eyebrow at his movement, but saying nothing about it. She cracked a smile at him. "Sweet is... 'nice.'"
"I like sweet. Sweet coffee, sweet food, sweet things. The usual." He gingerly stroked her cheek with his thumb, still in disbelief that he was good enough for her.
She relaxed under his fingertips, but her gaze remained focused on him. "Oh, right," she said softly. "How could I forget the whipped cream and the powdered chocolate?"
He laughed, the sound warm and gravelly. "Don't make fun of me. It's mean," he said, tracing her jaw.
"Not sweet at all on my part," she responded with a wry smile. She lifted a hand and hesitated before using it to tuck back a loose strand of his untidy hair. "My sincerest apologies for my unkindness. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
"No worries. I forgive you." He took her hand after she brushed away the stand of hair, holding it as he leaned closer to her face, kissing her lips once again. This time, though, it was longer than the first one.
She kissed him back immediately, and her mouth seemed to fit perfectly to his, despite the fact that she could barely keep herself from smiling. The hand that he wasn't holding quickly found a resting space on his chest underneath his collarbone, where her head had lain during their time in the forest. She pulled away after a moment, although their faces were still close. She laughed breathily, and her gaze flickered up to his. "You have no idea," she murmured, "how long I've wanted to do that." (holy crap they're cute)
Her hair was soft and springy to the touch, and she seemed to lean into his hand as she looked up at him with a cheeky smile. "Nope," she replied. "I don't think so. Not unless you can read minds."
"Then you wouldn't mind telling me how long?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow. "Because I really am curious. At what point did you realize you wanted to kiss me?" His voice was slick, and he gave her a conceited grin. (Time to be vain again, Francis.)
