“You’re really focused,” you hum, dangling your legs off the workbench while he adjusts the wiring on a stealth prototype. “Kinda hot, actually. That serious expression.”

He doesn’t respond. Not even a twitch.

You lean in slightly. “Your hands are so smooth, by the way. Do you moisturize them? For me?”

He pauses.

Just for a second.

Then keeps working like nothing happened.

You grin. “I bet you do. Every night. Just in case I grab them suddenly. You’d want them to be soft, right? Kissable even.”

Still no reaction. But you see it—the way his jaw tenses. Just slightly.

“And that face?” you continue, swinging your foot and tapping it lightly against his leg. “Cute. Dangerous cute. Secretly-obsessive-killer cute. Like, if you weren’t busy building deadly gadgets, I’d kiss your face stupid right now.”

That’s when he stops moving entirely.

You pause, blink innocently. “What? Am I wrong?”

His voice comes out low. Controlled. “You talk too much.”

You’re about to fire back when suddenly—

His hand is behind your head.

Fast. Firm.

You barely have time to process the heat rushing to your cheeks before he pulls you down onto his lap, hard enough to steal your breath. The prototype clatters forgotten to the side.

And then—

He kisses you.

No hesitation. No build-up. Just raw, hungry years of quiet pining exploding all at once. His mouth crashes into yours like he’s been waiting his entire life to taste you. Like you’re oxygen and he’s been underwater too long.

You gasp, but he doesn’t give you the chance to say anything. His other hand slides up your spine, pulling you impossibly closer, and he groans into your mouth like this has been killing him. Like he’s been holding back for so long, he doesn’t know how to stop.

He kisses you until your brain short-circuits. Until your fingers grip his shirt for balance. Until all you can do is feel him.

And then—

He pulls back. Just a little.

His eyes are half-lidded, lips flushed and wet. He licks them slowly, deliberately.

“…Still think I’m cute?” he murmurs, voice thick, gravelly.

You’re breathless. Speechless.

But before you can answer—

He kisses you again.

Harder this time. Deeper. Like he needs more.

And then it happens. That kind of make-out where he pulls back for air, barely an inch, and then drags you back in like he can’t stand even a second without your mouth on his.

Over and over.

Kiss. Breath. Kiss. Breath. Kiss.

And you? You started this. You poked the bear. Now you're in his lap, dizzy from the way he tastes, the way he holds you like you're the only thing that's ever made him lose control.