Even if paper in his hands and files on a computer can't tell him what he needs to know, the human body is far more inadvertently revealing. Yeah, that was it. Natasha woke up as soon as Charles did, but stayed put, wondering what he was going to do.
The sun glowed modestly behind a white cover of clouds and it felt strange to look up at it during this time of day, not from behind a classroom window, but alone in the streets on his way to catch the bus. And then his thigh presses between your legs, and one of his hand slides down to your legs and up under your skirt.
It doesn't make sense - Q is only his Quartermaster, even if he once sheltered James in an incident they have never spoken of - and, troubled, Bond ignores the bruise.
Then, he grabbed the ends of the shirt and dragged it over his head, folding it haphazardly and throwing it onto the green sofa. He takes a closer look, noticing that private tutoring totals eight hours a week.
He's hitting dead ends everywhere, it seems. It's almost enough to make him want to stay here, where the only thing he knows is Q's voice, now as familiar as James' own. Finally, some time for himself where he could breathe.
A few seconds passed, until he seemed to settle for both. Taking a step back, she turned and directed a hard roundhouse kick to his chest and he flew back into the couch. He curses the fact that he looks like a fourteen-year-old too often for it to be healthy.
As long as it was just him, she should be fine, she thought and walked over with him. As Ichimaru grabbed the jacket, their fingers brushed, but Ichimaru retracted his hand calmly and turned away to put the jacket on the hanger.
Bond is uncomfortably aware of how easily this lovely, stubborn creature could be broken. It means that they're a security risk, and he might end up being the next cautionary tale told to green agents.
He scoffs inwardly - it's just a silly piece of paper, for crying out loud; he can't be bothered to even care - and throws it at the waste bin by the door. Ten minutes after the last minion leaves, dark, forest green eyes pin James down, and Q doesn't have to say a word.
Maybe it was the fact that really, she shouldn't be doing this. He honestly didn't care.
It's been quite some time since his soulmate wrote anything, but he hasn't noticed, thoroughly distracted by the enigma of Q.
Closer to the door was a desk and a waste bin, and that was all there was. In fact, only receives confirmation of his efforts after his mission is complete and he's on the plane ride back. What the hell are you doing here?
If Hitsugaya had bothered, he would have told her that Kurosaki was unstable - it was a wonder no one but him and the turquoise thug had noticed it - and that it would be unwise of her to approach him. Turning around he shot his brother a look which didn't mean to look as if he cared or anything.
Do you like chocolate? Don't you dare arrange to have J. The bell finally rings to signal the end of the period, and once all the students are gone, you collapse into your chair, head in your hands. Laughing softly, Natasha shook her head.
Ichimaru doesn't seem to be bothered; he looks at the piece of paper, then at the class, all the time smiling that disconcerting smile of his as his gaze seems to rest on each and every one of them.
When they happened, they were few and far in between, but the men that she did run into, tended to be a type, and Barney was no exception. Toshiro wondered perhaps if the teacher needed glasses.
This was nice, and it had been a while since she had been on a date.If handwriting is an average size - in that the top of the letters sit just below the centre of line - the writer is well-adjusted and adaptable. Reviews, essays, books and the arts: the leading international weekly for literary culture.
"People with high intelligence have bag handwriting, because they think too fast to write neatly, people who put their high intelligence to use have good handwriting, because they make sure things are right before eaping forward" makes more sense imho.
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