Don't drop the cup -- don't let your hands shake -- Pearl's eyes are back to Rose's lips, glued to them as they shape themselves against the edge of the mug. There's a hint of stray liquid gleaming irresistably on her bottom lip as she pulls away, and then, oh -- Rose's mouth pressed gently against her hand, a curl of heat and damp on her skin that echoes the tingle of fingers on her thigh.

Pearl's shifted position without noticing, and not just so Rose can reach the mug more easily. Leaning forward, reeled in by want.

"You're," she breathes, "welcome."