[She lets out a soft little sound at the contact, at both that it happened and that it happened unforced, and she flares with surprise and that strange nervous anticipation again, like approaching the drop on a roller coaster.
It feels undeniably nice, and she doesn't (want to) stop herself from leaning into the touch. It does make it more difficult to hide the heat over her cheeks, but tradeoffs]
[There's an odd little lurch at that, the impulse to backpedal, to ask if it's what she wants. But... he knows already, doesn't he? The way she leans into it, the way she doesn't want to stop herself, the underlying nervous anticipation. He can feel it, already]
[He can't quite tamp down the sense of wonder that rises up in him in response - can't quite help feeling how lucky he is, to be here on the rooftop with her, running his fingers through her hair not because they're falling apart after some nightmare of a game, but just because. The wave of affection that radiates out from him is soft, and warm, and constant, suffused with that ache that never quite leaves; his fingers are very gentle, as they comb through the tangles]
[She lets out a kind of shivery breath, and ducks her head a little--not to escape his touch in the least, but perhaps so that he won't quite be able to catch her expression. She attempts to hide her emotions as well, with less success: she lets though peeks of embarrassment, bashful and self-conscious and maybe too greedy, a stoked warmth that spreads further through her the closer he is and the gentler he becomes]
[He catches the emotions and reflects assurance back her way: not too greedy, never too greedy. She could ask for anything, and he would give it to her. Something like this, something as sweet as this is, feels like a privilege - like he's being allowed it, and there's a messy tangle of gratitude and warmth that surges up to press out toward her]
[He hand keeps moving, careful, against her hair; he doesn't mean to do it, hasn't noticed he is, but he's leaning in toward her, like a plant pressing nearer the sun]
[She looks back up, grips a little tighter at his side with a hot thrill of tension--a slight spike of anxiety--admonishment, want better, he deserves better. That thrum of tension doesn't quite fade, but encouragement and admiration follow to soothe, don't ever settle, take what he wants for he deserves it all and more.]
[He hesitates, at that reaction; the unconscious shift toward her, to close the handspan between them and deepen the embrace, stutters to a stop. The motion of his hand falters for an instant, in her hair, before it picks up again, just as slow, just as gentle]
[Some wordless question reaches out toward her, soft and seeking - feeling around the edges of that tension, that anxiety, as though to ask, what does she want? And if there's a thread of anxiety of his own down under that (if it gets worse at the notion that she would ever just take what he wants without considering herself) he tempers it by sending reassurance and encouragement her way]
[A muffled frustration, shame and resignation chasing on its heels before she can fully replace it all with apology instead. The nervous energy shifts more towards just nervous, before that fades to familiar acceptance as well.
She offers a small smile and nods, movements slow as if trying not to spook him again.]
...'Sides. What do I get outta lying to you? I trust you. So--so I want you to trust me.
[This rings faintly resigned as well, though it's as honest as anything she's felt, a desire as strong as all those that were tougher to say aloud. Her cheeks stay flushed]
[His chest is a tangled mess of feelings, all of them bright and hot and immediate. Assurance crowds out her way, layers upon layers of it - and underneath that, held toward her like an offer, earnest and awkward, is the soft intensity of his trust]
[Returns a small smile, a glance up at him before lowering her lashes. It's not that she'd thought he didn't, but still swells something tight in her chest to hear it said--to feel it]
Yeah...yeah. So--I ain't gonna do nothing to betray it, okay? Not if I got any choice. So...you don't gotta worry, okay?
[Searches her face again, for a long couple of seconds - the color in her cheeks, and the soft, dark swoop of her lashes, and the way her lips curve into that smile]
...okay.
[He nods, slow - a little lost in the swell of feelings in her chest and in his own]
[He takes a breath in, careful - takes another, and scoots in closer, so that the handspan of space between them is gone, arm coming up around her to hug her closer]
[Surely her urges must be bleeding through by mistake, but that doesn't stop her from shifting her hand up to press warm into his back, pulling him closer as well. Her smile goes a little bashful, the warm feeling spreading further, to her fingertips, down towards her feet. It's enough that even the fresh reminder of his lack of heartbeat isn't enough to dull the hum of tension; hers speeds quickly enough for both of them.]
[There's tension thrumming through him, too - a low buzz that shivers in slowly and settles to stay. This, too, seems like backdrop: something so common he's learned how to ignore it, by now]
[...mostly]
[It's harder, somehow, when he can feel how quickly her heart's beating - when he's this close to the bashful curve of her smile. His cheeks creep slowly darker; his mouth is very dry, suddenly. There's something flustered and warm, almost longing, in among all the rest]
[For a long, long few moments, he stays very still, trying to tamp it down]
[Then, with undertones of uncertainty, of caution, of don't-do-this-you-are-an-idiot-please-stop-before-you-ruin this:]
What you said earlier. About, like. Not asking for that promise.
[That rollercoaster feeling again, and she darts her tongue out quick, to wet dry lips. When she finally speaks, her voice is a little gravelly, though whether it's due to his feelings or her own is hard to tell]
[His eyes catch on the motion of her tongue; he can't quite fight down the surge of heat that shivers through him in response]
[He swallows, with difficulty, nerves edging in on the sidelines to join that steady buzz of tension, mingling with the simple pleasure of being close to her, of being held]
[He can still shut up; he doesn't have to be greedy, doesn't have to ruin it like last time]
[But somehow, his traitor mouth is saying:]
Did you, like.
Did you ever think it over? After... after that one night, I mean.
[Surprise—a wash of something hot that’s not entirely embarrassment before she can douse it, many things have been thought over across many nights, and surely that is not what he’s talking about. She looks away, attempting to think back and project an attempt at calm and normal woth dubious success]
W...way back when...about...kissing?
[The not-quite-hidden heat deepens, more wry than nervous—directed more at the memory than now]
Did...you? Since...I mean. Ain’t like you don’t got other [better] choices.
[He ducks his head, a little, something self-deprecating creeping in around the edges. He smothers it quickly, before it can take root - pushes on.]
But... but yeah. I've thought about it, some.
[A lot. He thinks about it a lot. He's thinking about it now, and surely she knows, because try as he might, the wave of heat and embarrassment that rolls through him is impossible to subdue]
[A ball of various tangled emotions at the mention of a girlfriend, none of which are pertinent and she shoves them away]
--That's different.
[Then, a different ball of emotions--perhaps the same ones in different amounts--and no small amount of surprise, as though she had not expected him to have thought about it much at all]
For--this--it's kind of entirely about you? I mean, kissing's kind of a two-man job, I can't really do it myself.
[Bravado, she knows it's a weak quip. Continues, self-conscious]
I... I mean. Same thing I've always thought? That it's... real nice. That, like. That if you ever wanted -
[He cuts himself off - is almost swallowed whole by the embarrassment that rushes through, searing him from the inside out. It's tangled up in remembered pleasure, in tendrils of guilt. (In, somewhere down deep, something very like hope.) The emotions flicker through, there and gone, as he shoves them away, hard, with limited success]
But. But, like. If you never got around to thinking about it, or whatever - or if you thought about it and you just weren't into it - that's cool, too.
Like I said. What we got already's the most important thing.
[He feels it, too, strong and fierce and loving. It's the most important thing, and he presses it her way: that she's everything to him, and he's lucky to have this, and he wouldn't ruin this for the world]
[She can't help but look shyly back at him; no matter how often or how much he shares such feelings with her, it still feels too good to be true--a surprise gift sent to the wrong address, a treat to be gobbled up before someone else steals every bite. So it's difficult to leave something behind, especially with him so obviously looking for an opinion on the flavor.
For her part, she feels the same as when it first came up, too: surprised (confused, flattered) at the offer and eager (anxious, terrified) not to bungle it. ...But she had anyway, hadn't she? So this time, why not eat the whole plate?]
...Okay.
[A bloom of not-quite-guilty self-consciousness, and her hand drifts back down to his hip, warm in the sun. Okay. Okay.
She takes a breath before speaking, voice careful]
I...don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable. Since I know you ain't into...all that...if--if something is too much, you gotta say something. But if you wanna try it...let's try it.
[Bravado, nervous energy thrumming beneath the surface, uncertainty and interest still vying for dominance. She strokes her thumb over his hip again, intended to steady]
Don't wanna guilt you into it, neither. So--no pressure, okay? If you want a time out or something, just say so--no harm, no foul.
[The motion of her thumb settles him, somewhat, even as it sparks a brighter awareness, a prickle of heat]
Yeah... no pressure.
[He hesitates - peers up at her face, eyes flickering back and forth, as though searching for something. The concern is still there, keeping the rising tide of everything else at bay]
But, like. That goes both ways. Okay?
Don't, like - don't do nothing just cause you think I wanna do it. Promise?
Didn’t we do this earlier? But yeah, I continue to promise that I won’t do things I don’t want to do.
[She is considerably more worried about not doing things that he does not want to do, a (come to think of it, constant) thread of anxiety further fed by his current concern and insistent enough to cast a pall over anything else. She shifts the hand caught under him a little; reaches up with the others to brush her knuckles over his cheek]
Same for you, okay?
[Simple encouragement, and acceptance, and that unwavering affection, (mostly) undistracted by the pink of his mouth or the spill of freckles over his skin or that anticipatory feeling that still hasn’t fully gone away since he first touched her]
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Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
It feels undeniably nice, and she doesn't (want to) stop herself from leaning into the touch. It does make it more difficult to hide the heat over her cheeks, but tradeoffs]
...'S fine, if you want.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[He can't quite tamp down the sense of wonder that rises up in him in response - can't quite help feeling how lucky he is, to be here on the rooftop with her, running his fingers through her hair not because they're falling apart after some nightmare of a game, but just because. The wave of affection that radiates out from him is soft, and warm, and constant, suffused with that ache that never quite leaves; his fingers are very gentle, as they comb through the tangles]
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[He hand keeps moving, careful, against her hair; he doesn't mean to do it, hasn't noticed he is, but he's leaning in toward her, like a plant pressing nearer the sun]
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[Some wordless question reaches out toward her, soft and seeking - feeling around the edges of that tension, that anxiety, as though to ask, what does she want? And if there's a thread of anxiety of his own down under that (if it gets worse at the notion that she would ever just take what he wants without considering herself) he tempers it by sending reassurance and encouragement her way]
...hey. This still okay?
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She offers a small smile and nods, movements slow as if trying not to spook him again.]
...If it wasn't okay, I'd say something. Okay?
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[His chest feels too full; that ache that's usually just background seems like it might swallow him whole]
...promise?
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[Mostly teasing, but going more quiet and honest]
...'Sides. What do I get outta lying to you? I trust you. So--so I want you to trust me.
[This rings faintly resigned as well, though it's as honest as anything she's felt, a desire as strong as all those that were tougher to say aloud. Her cheeks stay flushed]
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[His chest is a tangled mess of feelings, all of them bright and hot and immediate. Assurance crowds out her way, layers upon layers of it - and underneath that, held toward her like an offer, earnest and awkward, is the soft intensity of his trust]
More than anyone.
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Yeah...yeah. So--I ain't gonna do nothing to betray it, okay? Not if I got any choice. So...you don't gotta worry, okay?
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...okay.
[He nods, slow - a little lost in the swell of feelings in her chest and in his own]
[He takes a breath in, careful - takes another, and scoots in closer, so that the handspan of space between them is gone, arm coming up around her to hug her closer]
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[...mostly]
[It's harder, somehow, when he can feel how quickly her heart's beating - when he's this close to the bashful curve of her smile. His cheeks creep slowly darker; his mouth is very dry, suddenly. There's something flustered and warm, almost longing, in among all the rest]
[For a long, long few moments, he stays very still, trying to tamp it down]
[Then, with undertones of uncertainty, of caution, of don't-do-this-you-are-an-idiot-please-stop-before-you-ruin this:]
What you said earlier. About, like. Not asking for that promise.
...did you mean that?
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...Like I said. Got no reason to lie.
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[He swallows, with difficulty, nerves edging in on the sidelines to join that steady buzz of tension, mingling with the simple pleasure of being close to her, of being held]
[He can still shut up; he doesn't have to be greedy, doesn't have to ruin it like last time]
[But somehow, his traitor mouth is saying:]
Did you, like.
Did you ever think it over? After... after that one night, I mean.
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W...way back when...about...kissing?
[The not-quite-hidden heat deepens, more wry than nervous—directed more at the memory than now]
Did...you? Since...I mean. Ain’t like you don’t got other [better] choices.
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[He ducks his head, a little, something self-deprecating creeping in around the edges. He smothers it quickly, before it can take root - pushes on.]
But... but yeah. I've thought about it, some.
[A lot. He thinks about it a lot. He's thinking about it now, and surely she knows, because try as he might, the wave of heat and embarrassment that rolls through him is impossible to subdue]
It ain't really about me, though.
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--That's different.
[Then, a different ball of emotions--perhaps the same ones in different amounts--and no small amount of surprise, as though she had not expected him to have thought about it much at all]
For--this--it's kind of entirely about you? I mean, kissing's kind of a two-man job, I can't really do it myself.
[Bravado, she knows it's a weak quip. Continues, self-conscious]
So--when you thought about it...what'd you think?
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[He cuts himself off - is almost swallowed whole by the embarrassment that rushes through, searing him from the inside out. It's tangled up in remembered pleasure, in tendrils of guilt. (In, somewhere down deep, something very like hope.) The emotions flicker through, there and gone, as he shoves them away, hard, with limited success]
But. But, like. If you never got around to thinking about it, or whatever - or if you thought about it and you just weren't into it - that's cool, too.
Like I said. What we got already's the most important thing.
[He feels it, too, strong and fierce and loving. It's the most important thing, and he presses it her way: that she's everything to him, and he's lucky to have this, and he wouldn't ruin this for the world]
Okay?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
For her part, she feels the same as when it first came up, too: surprised (confused, flattered) at the offer and eager (anxious, terrified) not to bungle it. ...But she had anyway, hadn't she? So this time, why not eat the whole plate?]
...Okay.
[A bloom of not-quite-guilty self-consciousness, and her hand drifts back down to his hip, warm in the sun. Okay. Okay.
She takes a breath before speaking, voice careful]
I...don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable. Since I know you ain't into...all that...if--if something is too much, you gotta say something. But if you wanna try it...let's try it.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[He searches her expression from bare inches away - can't quite tamp down the little thrill of awareness, when she sets her hand back on his hip]
But, like. Do you wanna try?
[His feelings are a jumble, some swirling mess of light and excitement and that tension, stronger than before, a steadily growing heat]
[But there's concern, too, keeping all the rest in check; concern that's more important than any of it]
I mean... you still didn't say.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[Bravado, nervous energy thrumming beneath the surface, uncertainty and interest still vying for dominance. She strokes her thumb over his hip again, intended to steady]
Don't wanna guilt you into it, neither. So--no pressure, okay? If you want a time out or something, just say so--no harm, no foul.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Yeah... no pressure.
[He hesitates - peers up at her face, eyes flickering back and forth, as though searching for something. The concern is still there, keeping the rising tide of everything else at bay]
But, like. That goes both ways. Okay?
Don't, like - don't do nothing just cause you think I wanna do it. Promise?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[She is considerably more worried about not doing things that he does not want to do, a (come to think of it, constant) thread of anxiety further fed by his current concern and insistent enough to cast a pall over anything else. She shifts the hand caught under him a little; reaches up with the others to brush her knuckles over his cheek]
Same for you, okay?
[Simple encouragement, and acceptance, and that unwavering affection, (mostly) undistracted by the pink of his mouth or the spill of freckles over his skin or that anticipatory feeling that still hasn’t fully gone away since he first touched her]
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