What— no one called you a damn whore, Rosalind, fuck—

[ Bigby's lips sputter, if only because he wasn't looking to duke it out with her verbally for once in his goddamned time knowing her. he may regret his choice of words slightly, but when she doesn't make an effort to pull away and make things Difficult, he doesn't linger on it much.

she makes it obvious where she wants his hand and he won't shy away from scratching his nails in a more southern direction, only stopping when that large palm of his is secured against her backside. it'd be oh-so-easy to take a deep squeeze, to claim it as his own like he typically does. he doesn't. Bigby likes what she is doing now, playing nice and wiggling her body to get more of what she wants herself. ]

There's nice as in you stitching up a knife wound, and then there's nice where you're literally kissing and touching me all over. So, yes. Consider it shocking.

[ his free hand decides to at least act somewhat more kind than the other, running its fingers through her hair in an attempt to work through inevitable knots as gently as he can. ]

Not exactly used to anyone being nice, so don't take it personally.