[ If anything, the way she touches him isβ reassuring. A tether, as some part of him fears falling back into old habits or having the ground give way beneath them. (If it'd happen to anyone, it would be them.) It's a reminder that what she wants from him is not a fantasy, as so many others had, but just him, a thought that's nearly inconceivable to him despite all his usual bluster.
All it takes is the tug of her fingers to both clear his mind and send it spiraling into a session of mental gymnastics as he tries to parse through what he wants versus what he's used to, and how to separate the two things. Even time seems like a limiting factor β they're not in such dire straits now, as evidenced by the fact that they can steal away for even a moment, but there's no guarantee as to how much more time they'll get to themselves, whether or not they'll even survive the ordeal they've been flung into.
And he knows he wants this, wants her β wants to be good enough, wants to be enough. ]
Tell meβ
[ The sentence gets swallowed up, lost on her tongue as a faint moan rolls off of his, his frame shifting into the rise of her hips. ]
Show me what you want. What you like.
[ Though he doesn't say as much out loud β it'd hardly be romantic, he thinks β he doesn't mean it in the sense that he expects her to know already (especially considering the fact that he's similarly at sea, in the process of re-learning and re-drawing his boundaries), but it feels easier for him to follow, here, than to lead, easier to mold what he knows when given some kind of direction rather than trying to figure it out by himself. ]
no subject
All it takes is the tug of her fingers to both clear his mind and send it spiraling into a session of mental gymnastics as he tries to parse through what he wants versus what he's used to, and how to separate the two things. Even time seems like a limiting factor β they're not in such dire straits now, as evidenced by the fact that they can steal away for even a moment, but there's no guarantee as to how much more time they'll get to themselves, whether or not they'll even survive the ordeal they've been flung into.
And he knows he wants this, wants her β wants to be good enough, wants to be enough. ]
Tell meβ
[ The sentence gets swallowed up, lost on her tongue as a faint moan rolls off of his, his frame shifting into the rise of her hips. ]
Show me what you want. What you like.
[ Though he doesn't say as much out loud β it'd hardly be romantic, he thinks β he doesn't mean it in the sense that he expects her to know already (especially considering the fact that he's similarly at sea, in the process of re-learning and re-drawing his boundaries), but it feels easier for him to follow, here, than to lead, easier to mold what he knows when given some kind of direction rather than trying to figure it out by himself. ]