✘

[ Moneypenny hums -- so deep and so low in her throat that it's practically a purr against Iain's chest as she arches herself off the mattress again, this time to meet him. There are bruises on her hips and a cut on the inside of her cheek (battle scars from the night before) but MP is more than willing to let Iain paint her black and blue if that means getting to carry him with her for a little while longer. (A cut, a limp, a burn -- it didn't matter, they each had their charms, so long as they were from him.) She curls her fingers into his hair, tugging him up to her mouth for a kiss.

(Already on the table. Ante up, baby.) ] I like your 'maybe's. [ Moneypenny's smile complicates the kiss, makes it crooked and taut. ] Follow-through's always proper.

[ (Stay longer. Moneypenny already knows that's not an option. ]