( affection is easy-come between them. it always has been, in a way. he remembers holding her small fox body against his chest, scratching her ears. it's easy to pet an animal. easier still, perhaps, to kiss a woman.
he waits for her to return with the marshmallows and the crackers, in a shirt so big on her it slips off one shoulder. )
Flora. Come here.
( he says it soft. it's a request, not a command. one hand held out. )
⟪ it's happened so easily with him. they'd been watching something or other, she'd shifted –– they had been at her place, so it had been partly done for space reasons. then, she'd rested on his chest, her tail curled a little around him, and he'd petted her, until her eyes fell shut.
the shirt, she'd gotten on a sale somewhere.
he might delight in the fact that it has a racoon on it.
at any rate, she's quickly over, having found the wood barbecuing sticks they'll need to roast the marshmallows over the fire, and she sets them down on the end table to take his hand. she'd like nothing more than for him to pull her in his lap, but she leaves the choice to him. ⟫
( he clasps her hand, twines their fingers. it's perhaps the single most intimate thing he's done. then he just tugs her forward, until she's standing between his knees.
slowly. slowly. he lifts their hands together, and kisses the back of hers. )
⟪ in its way, it's not traditional intimacy – and yet, it's so good, so fitting for the two of them, and it feels every bit as close as if he'd kissed her lips instead.
for her part, close as she is, she pulls his hand up to her lips, returning the gesture with a light blush to her cheeks that could be blamed on the fire. ⟫
Would you like if I –– ⟪ lord, words. ⟫ Could I be in your lap? I just want to be close to you.
( he tugs her down without a word, the weight of her barely enough to register. he wraps both arms around her and does nothing else so much than just lean in against her, his forehead pressed against her shoulder. breathing her in. )
⟪ nothing else as easy in this world as being in his arms is, one hand resting on his thigh, the other tracing patterns against his neck. her heart's racing, though. not in a bad way, she's pretty sure it's just doing overtime to contain all that happiness.
his scent has become familiar by now, she and it always comes with an odd sensation of home, even though she'd only stayed at his place for a couple of weeks.
eventually, might be a small eternity, she shifts, so their foreheads are pressed against each other. ⟫
( some things, when they happen, you take as irreversible. he got shot in a desert, once. married, divorced. the last thing he said to his father was that he hoped he died alone. the difference between irreversible and unforgivable is what settles in the frost in the hush that follows.
(some things are a prophecy.)
his eyes are closed. still (always) listening for wolves. but the crack of the fire and the drum of her heart drowns out the outside world.
tomorrow, everything and nothing will be different.
he threads his fingers in her hair, knocking it askew from where she'd pulled it up. then, thumbing at the line of her jaw, he kisses her. it's soft. sweet. a gentle press of his mouth at the corner of hers, more a question than a statement. )
⟪ if his kiss is a question, hers is an answer, warm, gentle, but open, happy and eager, her hand, too, burying itself in his hair let it down. her other hand moves from his thigh, his side, then to his chest, steadying herself against the headrush.
some first kisses had felt like an escape to her, but this... this is a homecoming, more than anything. for once, she isn't running away from something, but letting something happen, something good. she's excited, that's why her heart is racing, but she's calm, too. ⟫
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⟪ she laughs, though, because she knows she's got a bit of a Habit. ⟫
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he waits for her to return with the marshmallows and the crackers, in a shirt so big on her it slips off one shoulder. )
Flora. Come here.
( he says it soft. it's a request, not a command. one hand held out. )
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the shirt, she'd gotten on a sale somewhere.
he might delight in the fact that it has a racoon on it.
at any rate, she's quickly over, having found the wood barbecuing sticks they'll need to roast the marshmallows over the fire, and she sets them down on the end table to take his hand. she'd like nothing more than for him to pull her in his lap, but she leaves the choice to him. ⟫
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slowly. slowly. he lifts their hands together, and kisses the back of hers. )
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for her part, close as she is, she pulls his hand up to her lips, returning the gesture with a light blush to her cheeks that could be blamed on the fire. ⟫
Would you like if I –– ⟪ lord, words. ⟫ Could I be in your lap? I just want to be close to you.
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his scent has become familiar by now, she and it always comes with an odd sensation of home, even though she'd only stayed at his place for a couple of weeks.
eventually, might be a small eternity, she shifts, so their foreheads are pressed against each other. ⟫
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(some things are a prophecy.)
his eyes are closed. still (always) listening for wolves. but the crack of the fire and the drum of her heart drowns out the outside world.
tomorrow, everything and nothing will be different.
he threads his fingers in her hair, knocking it askew from where she'd pulled it up. then, thumbing at the line of her jaw, he kisses her. it's soft. sweet. a gentle press of his mouth at the corner of hers, more a question than a statement. )
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some first kisses had felt like an escape to her, but this... this is a homecoming, more than anything. for once, she isn't running away from something, but letting something happen, something good. she's excited, that's why her heart is racing, but she's calm, too. ⟫