She wouldn't stop tapping her pencil against her bottom lip, and it was driving him to distraction. Not that John could say much about the nervous habits that surfaced when one was deep in thought-he got told often enough every day to stop flipping the lid on the goddamn lighter and put it away, to which his usual response was an exaggerated fwick-snick of metal before he spitefully shoved it in his pocket.
The pencil was different. Mostly because he wasn't paying attention to the pencil itself, but to the full lower lip it was tapping against. It was shiny and soft-looking, and would probably leave sticky traces of candy-flavored gloss behind after a good hard kiss. John realized he was licking his lips just thinking about it.
Then Kitty looked up and caught him staring, and blushed bright red as he raised a lecherous eyebrow at her. Narrowing her eyes, she gave him a dirty look and turned around so she couldn't see him anymore.
He could still see the side of her face over her shoulder, though, and the pencil was still tapping away.