[ They're stubborn, both of them digging their heels in because this, whatever this is, can't continue -- but at the same time, there's a part of Ariadne that doesn't want it to stop. That's the part that's making her so angry, and it's what's making her hand shake despite how much she tells it not to (she'd want a cigarette if she didn't already have the cigarillo, and a detached part of herself makes a mental note to cut back, because she's clearly developing a habit). She turns, though she doesn't know what to say -- it's easy to act on an impulse but now she's being forced to think, and while usually she'd love to, it's making telling him that he either needs to make it clear that it's just a sex thing or they need to figure something else out very difficult.
The mistletoe, however, is very suddenly there and much, much harder for her brain to bypass. She's been kissed more than enough times today, perhaps most memorably by a pterosaur, but no one has riled her up (and take that in any way you will) as much as George has -- much to her irritation, earlier, but now she just wants to kiss him. And, well, grabbing onto him to yank him into a kiss is violent enough; the kiss itself, at least on her end, is more desperate. God dammit, George. ]
did you order some teal deer with your makeouts...
The mistletoe, however, is very suddenly there and much, much harder for her brain to bypass. She's been kissed more than enough times today, perhaps most memorably by a pterosaur, but no one has riled her up (and take that in any way you will) as much as George has -- much to her irritation, earlier, but now she just wants to kiss him. And, well, grabbing onto him to yank him into a kiss is violent enough; the kiss itself, at least on her end, is more desperate. God dammit, George. ]