[ Even with the best intent, Hilda's protest has just as much of a smile in it as Claude's faux innocence does. It's difficult to stay serious as she absently tracks the feeling of his lips along her jawline, making her heartbeat jump to her throat. The exhale she lets out has similar qualities to a sigh even though one doesn't pass from her lips in that moment and she's met with conflicting feelings about how well he's able to elicit that from her. Her hands are still splayed there against his chest with little force. Her fingers twitch, as if they have half a mind to fist the fabric of his tunic so that she can pull him up to where she'd much rather have his lips. The fact that she doesn't is astounding in and of itself. ]
No.
[ Yes.
Hilda loses herself again to the feeling of his fingers curled in her hair then on the back of her neck, cradling her like she's some sort of precious thing. If only, a wistful voice thinks. There's nothing proving that he does or doesn't think that. But perhaps, in the absence of said proof, that was everything she needed to draw a conclusion. Her heart sinks. Maybe she's the one who's been in denial of what had been in front of her all this time. It's frustrating to think that her feelings had somehow shifted without her realizing. It's surprising to think that she cared enough to feel this strongly about it and that she can't just let this go when there's never been anything more between them anyway.
This familiar push and pull had often ended in the latter back home. Whether it was late into the night, or hours before dawn broke, Hilda would be the one more often than not telling him that more sleep was better than less before losing that battle. Was it really losing though if it meant tangled sheets and his skin on hers? Or rather, was it losing when she was able to see sides of him that she had faintly, embarrassingly, claimed as her own?
Ugh, focus, Hilda. She tries again, caught between a battle of what her mind and body want. A hand rises to gently caress his cheek, voice firm but with an undertone of tenderness. ]
I'm not the one that just spent four weeks down in a pit. For once in my life, I think I'm admitting that you need more rest than I do.
no subject
[ Even with the best intent, Hilda's protest has just as much of a smile in it as Claude's faux innocence does. It's difficult to stay serious as she absently tracks the feeling of his lips along her jawline, making her heartbeat jump to her throat. The exhale she lets out has similar qualities to a sigh even though one doesn't pass from her lips in that moment and she's met with conflicting feelings about how well he's able to elicit that from her. Her hands are still splayed there against his chest with little force. Her fingers twitch, as if they have half a mind to fist the fabric of his tunic so that she can pull him up to where she'd much rather have his lips. The fact that she doesn't is astounding in and of itself. ]
No.
[ Yes.
Hilda loses herself again to the feeling of his fingers curled in her hair then on the back of her neck, cradling her like she's some sort of precious thing. If only, a wistful voice thinks. There's nothing proving that he does or doesn't think that. But perhaps, in the absence of said proof, that was everything she needed to draw a conclusion. Her heart sinks. Maybe she's the one who's been in denial of what had been in front of her all this time. It's frustrating to think that her feelings had somehow shifted without her realizing. It's surprising to think that she cared enough to feel this strongly about it and that she can't just let this go when there's never been anything more between them anyway.
This familiar push and pull had often ended in the latter back home. Whether it was late into the night, or hours before dawn broke, Hilda would be the one more often than not telling him that more sleep was better than less before losing that battle. Was it really losing though if it meant tangled sheets and his skin on hers? Or rather, was it losing when she was able to see sides of him that she had faintly, embarrassingly, claimed as her own?
Ugh, focus, Hilda. She tries again, caught between a battle of what her mind and body want. A hand rises to gently caress his cheek, voice firm but with an undertone of tenderness. ]
I'm not the one that just spent four weeks down in a pit. For once in my life, I think I'm admitting that you need more rest than I do.