The Point

She was too comfortable in his arms, that was all she knew. The play had already started, but that was not the point. His fingers drew shapes on her neck, and she exposed her throat. That was not the point either. She wasn't sure what was. She mused on it as she lay across him and experienced a flash of annoyance when he dared to interrupt by trying to kiss her. One finger pushed him away, silence still in her brain. That was not the point at all. But, what... She glanced towards the sky and found it dark and upholstered. That wasn't right, somehow.... His lips were soft on her ear, but his teeth were sharp, and his breath, coming fast, was warm. Perhaps... She trailed her thumb up his thigh, stopping just short of scandal. His moan was deep, sensual, and brought satisfaction to her smile. The play had already started, but that was not the point. Not the having started already bit, at least.

Realism

The world is not worthy of respect. But perhaps because that is the case, you should respect the world all the more. After all, we're part of it. (Are we not?)

There are no exceptions from the rule of being flawed. So let us instead admire virtues, and be reassured that we have some of our own. (Do we not?)