[ Positioned as they are, he can't quite see her face, nor she his. It gives him a moment to contemplate a response, to try to parse through, in at least some temporary manner, the idea of being had, being kept. She doesn't mean it so literally, he knows, nor does he truly feel any resistance to the idea of giving himself over to her, butβ such are the peccadilloes born of the lives they've led.
It's a shame no separate terminology exists. What they speak of is an exchange β no, not an exchange, but something shared, but they've both, to differing degrees, been had by creatures who used the same words to establish a strict hierarchy, to establish ownership. With that in mind, it feels like a tremendous risk to trust anyone, to open up to even the slightest degree. But she doesn't make him grovel, make him beg, doesn't dismiss him despite how easy it would be to do so. There's blood on his hands, he thinks, enough to fill an ocean or more, and yetβ
βshe's still here, offering him a kind of care that's been totally foreign to him thus far. ]
It would please me to no end, [ is what he settles on, spoken barely above a whisper.
It doesn't escape him that, as new as this may be for him, it's new territory for her, too. For any of their number, he'd imagine, misfits that they all are. It makes it easier, if even just by a fraction, to be honest. The words don't taste like poison on his tongue, justβ an admission. ]
Wherever your path leads, there shall I be.
[ In other words, a vice versa, a less explicit way of saying that he has no compunction with regards to helping her fully uncover her past, to deal (in one way or another) with those who'd irrevocably altered the course of her life. It's only fair, and, besides, he's curious, too. ]
no subject
It's a shame no separate terminology exists. What they speak of is an exchange β no, not an exchange, but something shared, but they've both, to differing degrees, been had by creatures who used the same words to establish a strict hierarchy, to establish ownership. With that in mind, it feels like a tremendous risk to trust anyone, to open up to even the slightest degree. But she doesn't make him grovel, make him beg, doesn't dismiss him despite how easy it would be to do so. There's blood on his hands, he thinks, enough to fill an ocean or more, and yetβ
βshe's still here, offering him a kind of care that's been totally foreign to him thus far. ]
It would please me to no end, [ is what he settles on, spoken barely above a whisper.
It doesn't escape him that, as new as this may be for him, it's new territory for her, too. For any of their number, he'd imagine, misfits that they all are. It makes it easier, if even just by a fraction, to be honest. The words don't taste like poison on his tongue, justβ an admission. ]
Wherever your path leads, there shall I be.
[ In other words, a vice versa, a less explicit way of saying that he has no compunction with regards to helping her fully uncover her past, to deal (in one way or another) with those who'd irrevocably altered the course of her life. It's only fair, and, besides, he's curious, too. ]