[ A contrast, perhaps, but one he finds charming β comforting, even. After all, it's a contrast, too, against his own lurid words as well, his apparently inherent overt sexuality replaced by something more timid, more at ease in these early stages of intimacy. (He wonders if that's a disappointment to her, but the thought is there and then gone within the space of a breath, considering the way their little lakeside picnic has played out thus far.)
It's a blessing, he thinks, that they're both still figuring out the shape of affection, having been bereft of it (been averse to it, even) until recent days. Want, before, had been so inextricably tied to sex, to lust, to something transactional and chalked up only to beauty and charm rather than anything deeper. He'd grown to hate it, almost β he doesn't have to articulate that to her, but he wouldn't really know how to, either, not without the caveat that he does feel desire, that his pulse jumps when he thinks of her. It feels too simplistic to say that it depends solely on whether he cares for the other person involved, but at the same timeβ it does seem to weigh heavily on that factor alone.
Now, for instance, there's no hesitation as he turns his face to her, so close that their noses touch. He pauses again, though the smile (sweet, rather than sly) that crosses his face, the wrinkles that form at the corners of his eyes, leave much less to the imagination as to how he'll respond. ]
Is that so? [ he muses, the tease clear in the tone of his voice. ] And what ever could they be, I wonder ...
[ He closes the sliver of distance left between them almost as soon as the words have left his mouth. The kiss is gentle, cautious despite the invitation, the press of his lips soft even as his arm pulls her closer to him, his other hand finding the dip of her waist. (Care, despite everything that's taught them such a thing would be a punishable offense.)
It's true that their futures still feel foggy β each of them has some crystal clear aim, but an aim so all-consuming that any life beyond that is practically an afterthought. But he does think of it now, at least, of something beyond (free of) the shadows of his past. Something hopeful, as naive as that sounds, so long as she's a part of it. ]
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It's a blessing, he thinks, that they're both still figuring out the shape of affection, having been bereft of it (been averse to it, even) until recent days. Want, before, had been so inextricably tied to sex, to lust, to something transactional and chalked up only to beauty and charm rather than anything deeper. He'd grown to hate it, almost β he doesn't have to articulate that to her, but he wouldn't really know how to, either, not without the caveat that he does feel desire, that his pulse jumps when he thinks of her. It feels too simplistic to say that it depends solely on whether he cares for the other person involved, but at the same timeβ it does seem to weigh heavily on that factor alone.
Now, for instance, there's no hesitation as he turns his face to her, so close that their noses touch. He pauses again, though the smile (sweet, rather than sly) that crosses his face, the wrinkles that form at the corners of his eyes, leave much less to the imagination as to how he'll respond. ]
Is that so? [ he muses, the tease clear in the tone of his voice. ] And what ever could they be, I wonder ...
[ He closes the sliver of distance left between them almost as soon as the words have left his mouth. The kiss is gentle, cautious despite the invitation, the press of his lips soft even as his arm pulls her closer to him, his other hand finding the dip of her waist. (Care, despite everything that's taught them such a thing would be a punishable offense.)
It's true that their futures still feel foggy β each of them has some crystal clear aim, but an aim so all-consuming that any life beyond that is practically an afterthought. But he does think of it now, at least, of something beyond (free of) the shadows of his past. Something hopeful, as naive as that sounds, so long as she's a part of it. ]