Magkrav strawberries

"Thanks for letting me off the hook for cooking a full meal, by the way." Magnus says, drawing a little closer to Kravitz on the couch. He looks good with his suit jacket off, cuffs runched, delicately sipping at his champaign. He's always delicate. Sometimes it gets Magnus all nervous, but usually he's just… fascinated. A bit pitter-pattery.

Kravitz swallows slowly, and Magnus' breath falters as he watches the bob of his throat. "Of course. A meal is a fine date, but… well. Not exactly /necessary/, for me."

Magnus wants to say something about how if Kravitz thinks cooking for him would be a waste, it definitely /wouldn't/ be, actually, it'd be lovely, but he's not sure how to phrase it so it comes outta his mouth right. Instead, he picks up a strawberry off the platter on the coffee table between them and occupies his mouth with chews.

Their movie is finished; it's quiet in the empty dorm, and dark save for the light from the kitchen behind them and the staticky tv in front. Kravitz has relaxed with the alcohol and company throughout the night, but Magnus still isn't sure where they're gonna go from here. They've- /done stuff/ before, a few times, but there's something about Kravitz that still throws him a little. Something not as simple as just /going for it/. And Magnus has never been great at words, or waiting. Or pretty people.

His fuzzy thoughts are interrupted by Kravitz leaning forward, fingers touching the edge of their snack plate. Passing over little wedges of soft cheese, strawberries, grapes.

"Which is your favourite?"

Magnus has to take a second to comprehend the question for how suddenly it comes, and then another to decide on his answer. "Uh… strawberries."

Nimble fingers pluck one from the platter. "You should have the rest, then."

Magnus smiles, even though he can't think of anything funny. "Naw, I don't mind sharing. You… like 'em too, right?"

Kravitz leans back into the couch, close enough that Magnus can feel the cool of his skin. "I do." He says, and takes a measured bite from the fruit. Red pulp on white canines. On dark lips. "But I'm finding that I like you more, Magnus."

The way Kravitz talks is always quiet and refined, but tonight Magnus feels it in his chest like a bubbling mulled wine. He hopes Kravitz isn't gifted with the power to hear heartbeats.

The half-bitten strawberry sits poised between Kravitz's sharp fingernails. There's still a drop of juice, barely visible, by the corner of his mouth.

Magnus says "can I kiss you?" just as Kravitz says "come 'ere", so he does, and he does.

Between kisses, Magnus shifts to straddle one of Kravitz's thighs, and once he's settled it's like his soul starts to sing. Getting to this point with Kravitz has been- /really nice/, really /fun/. He could make out on the couch like dumb kids all night, if Krav wanted. He doesn't even complain when Magnus eats the remaining strawberry half right out of his fingers.

Kravitz strain forward, and suddenly the platter of snacks is occupying the empty couch space.

"Would you like another?" Comes Kravitz's smooth voice, lips pressed right into his neck.

Maybe they won't just be making out. Magnus nods, tentatively, truthfully.

Another small strawberry is picked up by its foliage, and Kravitz brings it slow to Magnus' lips, same sharp nails just barely breaking the skin of it.

Magnus lets his eyes slip closed, and allows the fruit to pass his parting lips. Enjoys the slight suction when Kravitz pulls off the leafy top, and shifts his hips just an inch against Kravitz's thigh when the sweet taste bursts between his teeth.

"/Good/," Kravitz mutters, reverent, and Magnus' hips twitch of their own accord. Whatever little bubble they're making for themselves here, whatever strange unspoken thing they're indulging in, Magnus thinks - /really/ thinks - he likes it.

"Again?" He rasps, tongue lazy and saccharine.

Kravitz makes a hungry sort of hum low in his chest, and kisses soft at Magnus' throat. "As many as you'll have."