[ He holds her gaze as her hand alights upon his face, the shape of his mouth shifting only once as he laughs. It's for the best, he supposes, that they can all joke about their respective circumstances. Such self-awareness β a little distance β is the first step on the road to overcoming it, after all. ]
You know full well I do hate to share anything, much less your attention, [ he says, managing to err on just this side of playful rather than prissy. ] Though, of course, the respite is very welcome, too.
[ His other hand, formerly resting along his hip, comes to find hers in the grass between them, fingertips taking mock steps across the ridge of her knuckles before his palm settles, the pad of his thumb tracing over the bend of her wrist. It's still a light touch, an attempt to afford her the same kind of courtesy she's extended to him. Funny, really β her request that he lay down his usual pretenses leaves him at something of a loss. Were she anyone else, were the aim simply seduction, he'd have no trouble with the next steps of their dance, but as things areβ ]
I did quite enjoy our little ... nighttime chat. [ The words carry more truth than is immediately obvious. The fact is that he hadn't really expected to; anything close to physical pleasure had brought him nothing but loathing and disgust for so long. He doesn't want it to, but that prize had been wrested from him by force.
Then, a slight tempering, a little quieter: ] Yet another thing I didn't think you'd agree to, and yet, here we are.
[ Normally, he'd suggest translating the experience into action now, without much more fanfare, but that's not, he thinks, what she wants from him. Not immediately, anyway. (He's wondered, in the time between now and then, what it would be like to kiss her, to touch her. The impulse feels almost foreign. Would she want to know? Would she understand, if he recoiled? What he's shared with her β with any of them β has only really scratched the surface of what he'd gone through over the course of two centuries. He doesn't envy anyone the task of having to unravel it all, nor is he certain it's all worth sharing, in the end.) ]
no subject
You know full well I do hate to share anything, much less your attention, [ he says, managing to err on just this side of playful rather than prissy. ] Though, of course, the respite is very welcome, too.
[ His other hand, formerly resting along his hip, comes to find hers in the grass between them, fingertips taking mock steps across the ridge of her knuckles before his palm settles, the pad of his thumb tracing over the bend of her wrist. It's still a light touch, an attempt to afford her the same kind of courtesy she's extended to him. Funny, really β her request that he lay down his usual pretenses leaves him at something of a loss. Were she anyone else, were the aim simply seduction, he'd have no trouble with the next steps of their dance, but as things areβ ]
I did quite enjoy our little ... nighttime chat. [ The words carry more truth than is immediately obvious. The fact is that he hadn't really expected to; anything close to physical pleasure had brought him nothing but loathing and disgust for so long. He doesn't want it to, but that prize had been wrested from him by force.
Then, a slight tempering, a little quieter: ] Yet another thing I didn't think you'd agree to, and yet, here we are.
[ Normally, he'd suggest translating the experience into action now, without much more fanfare, but that's not, he thinks, what she wants from him. Not immediately, anyway. (He's wondered, in the time between now and then, what it would be like to kiss her, to touch her. The impulse feels almost foreign. Would she want to know? Would she understand, if he recoiled? What he's shared with her β with any of them β has only really scratched the surface of what he'd gone through over the course of two centuries. He doesn't envy anyone the task of having to unravel it all, nor is he certain it's all worth sharing, in the end.) ]