[ His fingers curl around her wrist where her palm rests against his chest, wraps with ease around the slim bone. Her scars are raised beneath. Familiar, as much as his own. He's learned the grooves of them. (He's learned the grooves of all her unseen scars. Glimpsed more of them in the Horizon, with her shifting features, and he understands. He does.)
He lets her hands wander, bury in his hair. When she tilts her head, he takes the invitation and trails his lips further down, towards where the curve of her neck meets her shoulder. He reaches behind, tugging on the laces he finds there, undoing them until her dress loosens and he can push it off to bare more of her skin. He's more careful with his movements, hitching her up, careful not to disturb the still healing marks on his back. But he does lift her, arms underneath to encourage her to lay back. And if she does, he will lean over her, one hand cupping her face. His thumb traces her lips. The gentle curl to its edges.
(Is he giving himself over too quickly? There's more he's yet to ask, more they've yet to talk about. But he's so tired of heavy clouds plaguing his every thought, his every action, and he wants to put it behind him. All the blood and terror that grips his memories at night. He wants to be okay again, and he wants her to be all right, too.)
Adjustments, she says. He only raises an eyebrow at that. She will show him, he's certain, soon enough. For a moment, his forehead rests against hers. He breathes her in, memorizes all over again her eyes, the violet glow under candlelight. He wants to not be separated by a vast swathe of mountains and rivers, but at least they can have this. At least they can be here, away from prying eyes. ]
nsfw on down
He lets her hands wander, bury in his hair. When she tilts her head, he takes the invitation and trails his lips further down, towards where the curve of her neck meets her shoulder. He reaches behind, tugging on the laces he finds there, undoing them until her dress loosens and he can push it off to bare more of her skin. He's more careful with his movements, hitching her up, careful not to disturb the still healing marks on his back. But he does lift her, arms underneath to encourage her to lay back. And if she does, he will lean over her, one hand cupping her face. His thumb traces her lips. The gentle curl to its edges.
(Is he giving himself over too quickly? There's more he's yet to ask, more they've yet to talk about. But he's so tired of heavy clouds plaguing his every thought, his every action, and he wants to put it behind him. All the blood and terror that grips his memories at night. He wants to be okay again, and he wants her to be all right, too.)
Adjustments, she says. He only raises an eyebrow at that. She will show him, he's certain, soon enough. For a moment, his forehead rests against hers. He breathes her in, memorizes all over again her eyes, the violet glow under candlelight. He wants to not be separated by a vast swathe of mountains and rivers, but at least they can have this. At least they can be here, away from prying eyes. ]