[The pang of loss when she pulls back off him is so complete that it feels like a physical ache; the reversion, after a few brief seconds of being blanketed by her weight, somehow seems unbearable]
[He wants, in rolling, vital waves, like a heartbeat; the heat is all-encompassing, caught up in the memory of her teeth scraping his lip, and her thumb on his hip, and the press of her against him, sweet pressure]
[He catches at the fabric of her shirt, before he can stop himself, to try and keep her from going - flushes, when he realizes what he's doing, and stops trying to tug, but can't quite bring himself to let go]
[He presses something back out her way, a fumbling amalgam of heat and confusion, some wordless sense of "why did you stop, why are you sorry?"]
[She looks up at him, and (self-conscious - embarrassed - longing) away, and back over, worried - uncomfortable - nnnot coming up with the right feelings. Swallows, then forces out words, voice a little hoarse]
Don't wanna--push.
[Because it's so easy to just steamroll over him when she gets carried away, and she knows he never protests, not enough to actually stop her. And no matter how much she wants, no matter the tension that even now jangles through her, there's no point unless he really wants this--isn't just going along with it not to rock the boat, or make her happy, or any number of other bullshit reasons.
A breath, and the self-consciousness is joined by reassurance--affection--something deeper. Not rejection, but permission to do, or to not do, whenever, whatever, however, if and only if he wants. Apology--she can do better, she will--she puts his hand over his and just rests it there. Which is still perhaps buzzing too hot to be soothing in any way, but she is doing her best,]
[His breath catches in his throat as her emotions twine toward him and burrow down inside; what radiates back out her way is some stumbling sense of almost-disbelief, as though he's caught flat-footed by how closely what she feels mirrors what he's kept buried for so long]
[Heat, yes, but always tamped down, always pushed to the side, always worried during the few brief times they did do this that she was only playing along for some game, or because she thought it was what he wanted]
[He isn't making an attempt to tamp down on it, now. It's simmering below his skin, all restless energy - burning him from the inside out. He's hyper aware of every point of contact - of the their legs intertwined, of her hand on his]
[He pushes reassurance and affection back her way, clumsy - that same blanket permission, that she's allowed to do anything, that he wants her to, that he can't think of anything he wouldn't try with her, given half a chance. He's self-conscious over how eager it is - embarrassed all in a wave, as the flush across his cheeks deepens. But he manages to get the words out, anyway, a little shaky:]
You ain't pushing.
[He swallows, with effort - tugs at her sleeve again, as though to urge her back to where she was]
[.........Ah. Dull realization; she gives a crooked smile.
This must all be a dream. How else could this have come out of nowhere--how else could she get this fairy tale outcome, tailor-made down to the last detail--the shy, eager desire? The rough wobble in his voice? The not-so-faint blush disappearing into his neckline--spreading who knows how much further than that? The sweet reassurance that yeah, he's okay with her--that he might actually want her like that?
Of course, of course; too good to be true. She's honestly a little surprised at how sharp the disappointment feels. It's not as though it's new that things that nice aren't real.
It's not new that her dreams are this flavor of nice, either. His hand is still warm under hers, and she grips his wrist, presses his hand closer, since-- Hell, if this is as close to the real thing as she's gonna get, why waste it?
Another breath, and her smile deepens, inviting]
...If...there's something you want, why don't you take it?
[He falters, a little, despite the inviting smile - can sense the realization, and the disappointment that comes on its heels. With only the feelings, though, and no thoughts for context, he doesn't have the complete picture]
[It all changed so fast, from heat and want and affection to something that stings like glass caught in his throat. His eyes search her face, looking for a clue; his mind races backward, to try and pinpoint what it was that he did wrong, some awful sense that he's ruined this already, just as it's getting started, welling up inside him]
[There's a beat of silence - another, longer than before]
[Then, slowly, realization: a dream]
[That would explain - well, everything, honestly. How else could there be a day like this, all ice cream sweetness, and the warmth of her beside him, and the endless blue of the sky?]
[But he can feel the rise and fall of her chest when she breathes. He can feel the pressure of her hand on him. He can feel the way their legs are tangled together, and the rough surface of the roof, heated by the sun. That can't all be a dream, can it? (He doesn't want it to be, with a longing so deep that it aches)]
[Too gentle to be dismissive; his effort is appreciated even if surely a figment of her imagination. Dream or no, most of his everything is appreciated, from the curve of his mouth and the weight of his touch to the warmth of his gaze, and even though she's not supposed to want such things so badly, she does. Her smile goes even more crooked, wry]
...I'd say pinch me, but what happens if I wake up?
[This comes out playful; apparently she's already sped through the stages of grief and back to 'fuck it.' She hefts herself up--flops over ungracefully to sprawl more over him than not. Folds her arms over his chest and rests her head there to examine his face.
It's an incredibly unflattering angle, all freckles and nose holes, but dream boogers or no she still wants to kiss him a lot, wipe away the ache from that longing, even if only here, for now. Settles for a light brush over his pulse point, which...wasn't there more pulse last time? Though, maybe there is, and the hopeful flare of heat through her own veins is just masking it, probably doesn't matter...?]
[There is decidedly no pulse to be had; his skin is unnaturally cool, though warmer than usual, perhaps, from the heat of the sun and the flush that extends down his neck to disappear into the collar of shirt]
[When she hefts herself on top of him, there's an answering spike of heat, stuttering and sudden; at the gentle touch on his neck, it ticks upward again, all coiling tension. The ache is still there, but it's less, now. The weight of her, and the smell of her hair, and the playful lilt to her tone: it all seems so real]
Least you'll know for sure.
[He smooths his hands over her back, over her sides - there's a sense of satisfaction, now that he has the freedom to use both of them, now that he can feel the her warmth with both palms. One hand lingers just above her hip, uncertain - rucks up the shirt there, and pinches the swath of bare skin, quick and sharp]
[Objectively, it isn't that painful; the tingle of his hand on her bare skin is much more intense of a feeling, and she shivers against him--into his satisfied touch, into her own self-conscious (but not guilty) satisfaction at being touched. Squirms just a little bit before reaching down and doing him, too--a solid tweak at the meaty part of his ass]
[Well--well. Still sounds fake, but feels real--the gentle resistance beneath her fingers--the echo of his feelings, desire decidedly uncoupled from any more platonic emotion--it is all more intensely detailed than she feels she would have ever imagined on her own. She soothes her fingers over the curve of his rear almost automatically, probably going for apologetic but landing somewhere between stunned and aroused. Because--what if, for real--
She swallows, thick; her free hand creeping up from chest to collarbone to cup his cheek...his other, other cheek]
...I could check again to be sure. Or--you could...for science.
[Still, he hesitates; his hands smooth up her sides, shaky - down again, lower this time, to the curve of her ass. He is intensely aware of the places where he's touching her - of the places where she's still touching him. The heat and tension are slow and heady, borderline unbearable]
[She takes in a sharp breath, cheeks dark and brain fogged--squirms forward into him before she can help it. There's a hand still tight on the space below the swell of his ass and the expanse of skin past the hem of his shorts, and she squeezes there, too. It feels good--too good--and it takes an effort not to do it again--not to just do that forever.
For now, she leans forward and catches his mouth again, heated and with purpose; probably the best and honestly only response she could be expected to devise in this moment, when the world is a haze of that dizzying tension, the smell and the taste and the weight of him against her hands, against her body. So if he needs an answer, it's certainly not bad, thanks science]
[He makes a strangled sort of sound when she squirms into him; it comes with a spark of pleasure, bright and sudden, like electricity under his skin. On its heels is embarrassment, prickling and aware - because there's no chance she can't feel how affected he is, in this position]
[But it's hard to feel too ashamed, when she's kissing him again - hard to think about anything but how soft her lips are. When he kisses her back, it's a little desperate, all the heat she's funneling into him stoked higher and directed back her way]
[His hands wander where they are, given permission to explore; one slips lower, restless, the fingers brushing along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh]
[She tries not to feel so pleased at his reaction, but she is--something hot and fiercely accomplished blooming in her gut at his whimper, at his passion, at his probably-not-a-hipbone prodding into her thigh. She tries not to enjoy kissing him so much--enjoy the thought of more-than-kissing him so much--but it's hard to keep her hands or hips still when it feels so good not to; when she can tell it feels good for him as well. So despite her intention of leisurely exploration of his mouth, there's an intensity to her movements as well--taking his feelings and letting them ride; pressing into his touch with a little sound of her own, muffled into his mouth as she licks away the last remainders of ice cream sweetness.]
[The sound she makes seems to catch at him - take hold of the want inside him and twist it higher. It's good to hear her sounding like that, soft and half-muffled, for no other reason than that she's feeling good. It's breathtaking that he can feel how much she wants this, too - that he knows firsthand how hard it is for her to keep her hips still, even as he shifts against her, not quite able to tamp down on the impulse himself]
[His hand wanders up again, restless, to ruck up her shirt a little, where he pinched her before. There's nothing sharp about the touch, this time - only searching fingers]
[Surely there’s nothing wrong with shifting against him just a little. Or a lot, as his hands run up her sides and she shudders closer.
The touch is almost ticklish, unevenly bright and dull as his cool fingers run over the smooth flesh and rough scar tissue of her sides and back. And while she knows he’s had at least as many injuries as she, she can’t entirely stop a tendril of self-consciousness at how ugly it must feel, much less look.
Distraction is probably the best option, and her own hands begin to wander, careful over his scalp and over the sensitive skin of his neck, mismatched fingers stroking featherlight lines up and down, carefully gentle and deliberate, soothing, maybe]
[Despite the rush of want, the unmistakable swell of desire when she moves against him, he's intimately aware of the self-consciousness - aware, too, of where it's rooted and when it started]
[The response comes like a tidal wave: a fierce and almost offended denial that seems to radiate out like the beacon of a lighthouse, strong and unwavering. His other hand joins the first, there beneath her shirt; his fingers smooth along unbroken skin and old scars both, pointedly, and he presses a jumble of emotions out her way, clumsy and earnest. First and foremost is how good she is: strong and kind and funny and pretty, all sharp smiles and tangled dark hair, the conviction caught up in something flustered and almost bashful. Under that is an aching sort of longing, something that's been there for a long, long time - how difficult it's been, not to look when he's had the chance, and how lucky he is, to finally get to touch her now, and how the scars (even while he hates the games that gave them to to her, fierce and protective) are a part of her, too, and they feel as good beneath his palms as all the rest.]
[But also. Also, that distraction technique is really nice. The skin of his neck is too sensitive for it to quite manage soothing, but it's amazing all the same. The fingers trailing through his hair are a different sort of amazing: warm and gentle, their paths traced by prickles of a more simple kind of pleasure, followed up by almost-shy indulgence as he leans into it, not quite able to help himself]
[It is considerably easier to just laugh or wave away his platitudes when they're just words, as empty or unreliable as anyone's. It is very different when they're joined like this--when she's got a direct feed of acceptance and praise and love singing through her veins suddenly more peroxide burn than soothing heat, impossible to believe yet too genuine to dismiss. It's hard not to just dismiss it anyway, because even if he is not lying he is wrong, and this is felt with just as much conviction as any of his pressed bundle.
She shifts--pulls away with an intake of breath; ducks into the crook of his shoulder to exhale shaky against the skin of his neck so that he doesn't have to see her so overwhelmed. Not that he still can't feel the blaze of her cheeks or the hitch in her breath, or how she alternately presses into and tenses away from his purposeful touch, heat pulsing through the puckered scars that radiate down her back. And that's all apart from how he can feel her actual feelings--embarrassed, unworthy, selfishly longing nevertheless. More complicated emotions under that, but certainly nothing to be felt while trying to suck face--while looking him in the eye, even--that would ruin it--she desperately doesn't want to ruin it.
Stroking at his nape is soothing to her at least, and even if her rhythm goes a little uneven for a bit and one hand just curls tight at his shoulder instead, as if maybe she can ground herself that way, or keep from getting too far into her own head, or at least keep him from leaving when she feels so stupidly vulnerable--she's still faintly pleased that he's cool with it, beneath everything]
[There's a stutter of hesitation, as she pulls away - a purposeful softening, as the feelings start to overwhelm her. He presses a gentle pulse of apology out her way, working to blunt the sharp edges. The conviction that remains is no less strong - no less certain - but it's steadier, cozier, a hearth fire rather than a bonfire. And if he can't quite repress the small spike of dismay that she could ever think he's wrong (doesn't she know she's everything?), he manages to tamp down on that, too, in the effort to blanket her in warmth again]
[He sends her reassurance, and affection, and joy - how lucky he counts himself, to get to be here with her now. It's that center-of-the-heart feeling again, never truly gone, always present under the surface but swelling to the forefront once again]
[The hands on her back and sides still where they are, just resting, the palms and fingers cradling smooth skin and scars alike]
[She definitely, definitely doesn't deserve this, and curls closer into him with another shaky wash of breath. He's so good, and she's--a lot of things, but mostly sorry and grateful, the weight of each shifting with each second that passes and he hasn't just completely run out of patience for her entirely. How lucky she is, to have this--to have him. How humbled, how--still overwhelmed, but less overwhelmingly so.
Her shoulders shudder and her breath hitches again, and the little light that swells in her chest is pure and bright, more than a little closer to the same feeling as his, as best as she can reflect it.]
[In the face of that light, something in him melts, a little - goes soft and wondering, shivery and grateful and amazed. He can't help but press in closer to that glow, can't help but let it wash over him. He gathers it close, almost furtive. He basks in it, self-conscious for how badly he wants it, and radiates warmth out in return]
[When his eyes start to sting, he closes them - takes a shaky breath in, and presses a kiss to her hair]
[She finds that his (her) emotions are not quite as overwhelming once she's figured out the shape of that center-of-the-heart feeling and how to produce it--figured out how to let a few more of the walls blocking its light crumble, so that its shine might actually make it back out to him.
And even though it kind of still is too tight in her chest and her throat and her eyes, it's not the devastation she'd been afraid of, and it's much better than the vice-like squeeze of even a few moments before, drowning in emotion she had no idea how to process.
(She is still not really sure about that part, but at least the pressure isn't quite so high.)
Somehow, she hadn't expected the feeling of him feeling her feelings to be so--good--but it is awesomely, selfishly so, the very definition of a guilty pleasure. Mind, she wants him to feel all of those things, and even if it wasn't the intent, she is fiercely glad that he's feeling them because of her, even and in spite of how (unworthy) lucky she is to even have this chance.
Even so, it's gratifying to feel her same uneven flutter in his breath--deeper in his chest, in his soul. She can't exactly be the stable rock to keep him from going adrift at the moment, but they can at least drift off together, and can probably figure things out from wherever they end up.
She shivers under the light pressure of his kiss and noses into the space where his jawbone meets his ear, just where his pulse would be; sneaks her hand up under the hem of his shirt, so she can feel his skin against hers--as if that would allow the emotions to transfer that much more smoothly.]
[He's fine to get caught in the current and drift away, as long as it's with her - content, and more than content, to go wherever the tide takes them. It seems less like being set adrift when it's like this, and more like setting sail to find a new horizon]
[He shivers, at the feel of her pressing into the sensitive skin along his jawbone - shivers a little harder, when her hand finds bare skin]
[His own hands smooth their way along the skin of her back again, there under her shirt; he curls in a little further, to press another kiss to her hair. The feeling in his chest is swelling bright and almost unbearably warm, like the midday sun, and he clutches her light close in turn, basking in it with a dawning wonder that does nothing for the stinging in his eyes]
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Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[He wants, in rolling, vital waves, like a heartbeat; the heat is all-encompassing, caught up in the memory of her teeth scraping his lip, and her thumb on his hip, and the press of her against him, sweet pressure]
[He catches at the fabric of her shirt, before he can stop himself, to try and keep her from going - flushes, when he realizes what he's doing, and stops trying to tug, but can't quite bring himself to let go]
[He presses something back out her way, a fumbling amalgam of heat and confusion, some wordless sense of "why did you stop, why are you sorry?"]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Don't wanna--push.
[Because it's so easy to just steamroll over him when she gets carried away, and she knows he never protests, not enough to actually stop her. And no matter how much she wants, no matter the tension that even now jangles through her, there's no point unless he really wants this--isn't just going along with it not to rock the boat, or make her happy, or any number of other bullshit reasons.
A breath, and the self-consciousness is joined by reassurance--affection--something deeper. Not rejection, but permission to do, or to not do, whenever, whatever, however, if and only if he wants. Apology--she can do better, she will--she puts his hand over his and just rests it there. Which is still perhaps buzzing too hot to be soothing in any way, but she is doing her best,]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[Heat, yes, but always tamped down, always pushed to the side, always worried during the few brief times they did do this that she was only playing along for some game, or because she thought it was what he wanted]
[He isn't making an attempt to tamp down on it, now. It's simmering below his skin, all restless energy - burning him from the inside out. He's hyper aware of every point of contact - of the their legs intertwined, of her hand on his]
[He pushes reassurance and affection back her way, clumsy - that same blanket permission, that she's allowed to do anything, that he wants her to, that he can't think of anything he wouldn't try with her, given half a chance. He's self-conscious over how eager it is - embarrassed all in a wave, as the flush across his cheeks deepens. But he manages to get the words out, anyway, a little shaky:]
You ain't pushing.
[He swallows, with effort - tugs at her sleeve again, as though to urge her back to where she was]
...please?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
This must all be a dream. How else could this have come out of nowhere--how else could she get this fairy tale outcome, tailor-made down to the last detail--the shy, eager desire? The rough wobble in his voice? The not-so-faint blush disappearing into his neckline--spreading who knows how much further than that? The sweet reassurance that yeah, he's okay with her--that he might actually want her like that?
Of course, of course; too good to be true. She's honestly a little surprised at how sharp the disappointment feels. It's not as though it's new that things that nice aren't real.
It's not new that her dreams are this flavor of nice, either. His hand is still warm under hers, and she grips his wrist, presses his hand closer, since-- Hell, if this is as close to the real thing as she's gonna get, why waste it?
Another breath, and her smile deepens, inviting]
...If...there's something you want, why don't you take it?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[It all changed so fast, from heat and want and affection to something that stings like glass caught in his throat. His eyes search her face, looking for a clue; his mind races backward, to try and pinpoint what it was that he did wrong, some awful sense that he's ruined this already, just as it's getting started, welling up inside him]
Is that - I mean.
Are you. Are you okay?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[She smiles at him, going for reassuring--he's only too perfect, don't worry; there's plenty worse things, she knows]
...Don't usually get too many good ones, but you usually tend to be there, so.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[Then, slowly, realization: a dream]
[That would explain - well, everything, honestly. How else could there be a day like this, all ice cream sweetness, and the warmth of her beside him, and the endless blue of the sky?]
[But he can feel the rise and fall of her chest when she breathes. He can feel the pressure of her hand on him. He can feel the way their legs are tangled together, and the rough surface of the roof, heated by the sun. That can't all be a dream, can it? (He doesn't want it to be, with a longing so deep that it aches)]
...feels pretty real to me.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[Too gentle to be dismissive; his effort is appreciated even if surely a figment of her imagination. Dream or no, most of his everything is appreciated, from the curve of his mouth and the weight of his touch to the warmth of his gaze, and even though she's not supposed to want such things so badly, she does. Her smile goes even more crooked, wry]
...I'd say pinch me, but what happens if I wake up?
[This comes out playful; apparently she's already sped through the stages of grief and back to 'fuck it.' She hefts herself up--flops over ungracefully to sprawl more over him than not. Folds her arms over his chest and rests her head there to examine his face.
It's an incredibly unflattering angle, all freckles and nose holes, but dream boogers or no she still wants to kiss him a lot, wipe away the ache from that longing, even if only here, for now. Settles for a light brush over his pulse point, which...wasn't there more pulse last time? Though, maybe there is, and the hopeful flare of heat through her own veins is just masking it, probably doesn't matter...?]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[When she hefts herself on top of him, there's an answering spike of heat, stuttering and sudden; at the gentle touch on his neck, it ticks upward again, all coiling tension. The ache is still there, but it's less, now. The weight of her, and the smell of her hair, and the playful lilt to her tone: it all seems so real]
Least you'll know for sure.
[He smooths his hands over her back, over her sides - there's a sense of satisfaction, now that he has the freedom to use both of them, now that he can feel the her warmth with both palms. One hand lingers just above her hip, uncertain - rucks up the shirt there, and pinches the swath of bare skin, quick and sharp]
...do me, too?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[Objectively, it isn't that painful; the tingle of his hand on her bare skin is much more intense of a feeling, and she shivers against him--into his satisfied touch, into her own self-conscious (but not guilty) satisfaction at being touched. Squirms just a little bit before reaching down and doing him, too--a solid tweak at the meaty part of his ass]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[The flush grows deeper; the heat does, too]
Definitely, uh. Definitely felt that okay.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[Well--well. Still sounds fake, but feels real--the gentle resistance beneath her fingers--the echo of his feelings, desire decidedly uncoupled from any more platonic emotion--it is all more intensely detailed than she feels she would have ever imagined on her own. She soothes her fingers over the curve of his rear almost automatically, probably going for apologetic but landing somewhere between stunned and aroused. Because--what if, for real--
She swallows, thick; her free hand creeping up from chest to collarbone to cup his cheek...his other, other cheek]
...I could check again to be sure. Or--you could...for science.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Science is, like. A pretty noble cause.
[Still, he hesitates; his hands smooth up her sides, shaky - down again, lower this time, to the curve of her ass. He is intensely aware of the places where he's touching her - of the places where she's still touching him. The heat and tension are slow and heady, borderline unbearable]
[This pinch is just as quick, but no less sharp]
...any good...?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
For now, she leans forward and catches his mouth again, heated and with purpose; probably the best and honestly only response she could be expected to devise in this moment, when the world is a haze of that dizzying tension, the smell and the taste and the weight of him against her hands, against her body. So if he needs an answer, it's certainly not bad, thanks science]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[But it's hard to feel too ashamed, when she's kissing him again - hard to think about anything but how soft her lips are. When he kisses her back, it's a little desperate, all the heat she's funneling into him stoked higher and directed back her way]
[His hands wander where they are, given permission to explore; one slips lower, restless, the fingers brushing along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[His hand wanders up again, restless, to ruck up her shirt a little, where he pinched her before. There's nothing sharp about the touch, this time - only searching fingers]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
The touch is almost ticklish, unevenly bright and dull as his cool fingers run over the smooth flesh and rough scar tissue of her sides and back. And while she knows he’s had at least as many injuries as she, she can’t entirely stop a tendril of self-consciousness at how ugly it must feel, much less look.
Distraction is probably the best option, and her own hands begin to wander, careful over his scalp and over the sensitive skin of his neck, mismatched fingers stroking featherlight lines up and down, carefully gentle and deliberate, soothing, maybe]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[The response comes like a tidal wave: a fierce and almost offended denial that seems to radiate out like the beacon of a lighthouse, strong and unwavering. His other hand joins the first, there beneath her shirt; his fingers smooth along unbroken skin and old scars both, pointedly, and he presses a jumble of emotions out her way, clumsy and earnest. First and foremost is how good she is: strong and kind and funny and pretty, all sharp smiles and tangled dark hair, the conviction caught up in something flustered and almost bashful. Under that is an aching sort of longing, something that's been there for a long, long time - how difficult it's been, not to look when he's had the chance, and how lucky he is, to finally get to touch her now, and how the scars (even while he hates the games that gave them to to her, fierce and protective) are a part of her, too, and they feel as good beneath his palms as all the rest.]
[But also. Also, that distraction technique is really nice. The skin of his neck is too sensitive for it to quite manage soothing, but it's amazing all the same. The fingers trailing through his hair are a different sort of amazing: warm and gentle, their paths traced by prickles of a more simple kind of pleasure, followed up by almost-shy indulgence as he leans into it, not quite able to help himself]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
She shifts--pulls away with an intake of breath; ducks into the crook of his shoulder to exhale shaky against the skin of his neck so that he doesn't have to see her so overwhelmed. Not that he still can't feel the blaze of her cheeks or the hitch in her breath, or how she alternately presses into and tenses away from his purposeful touch, heat pulsing through the puckered scars that radiate down her back. And that's all apart from how he can feel her actual feelings--embarrassed, unworthy, selfishly longing nevertheless. More complicated emotions under that, but certainly nothing to be felt while trying to suck face--while looking him in the eye, even--that would ruin it--she desperately doesn't want to ruin it.
Stroking at his nape is soothing to her at least, and even if her rhythm goes a little uneven for a bit and one hand just curls tight at his shoulder instead, as if maybe she can ground herself that way, or keep from getting too far into her own head, or at least keep him from leaving when she feels so stupidly vulnerable--she's still faintly pleased that he's cool with it, beneath everything]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[He sends her reassurance, and affection, and joy - how lucky he counts himself, to get to be here with her now. It's that center-of-the-heart feeling again, never truly gone, always present under the surface but swelling to the forefront once again]
[The hands on her back and sides still where they are, just resting, the palms and fingers cradling smooth skin and scars alike]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Her shoulders shudder and her breath hitches again, and the little light that swells in her chest is pure and bright, more than a little closer to the same feeling as his, as best as she can reflect it.]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[When his eyes start to sting, he closes them - takes a shaky breath in, and presses a kiss to her hair]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
And even though it kind of still is too tight in her chest and her throat and her eyes, it's not the devastation she'd been afraid of, and it's much better than the vice-like squeeze of even a few moments before, drowning in emotion she had no idea how to process.
(She is still not really sure about that part, but at least the pressure isn't quite so high.)
Somehow, she hadn't expected the feeling of him feeling her feelings to be so--good--but it is awesomely, selfishly so, the very definition of a guilty pleasure. Mind, she wants him to feel all of those things, and even if it wasn't the intent, she is fiercely glad that he's feeling them because of her, even and in spite of how (unworthy) lucky she is to even have this chance.
Even so, it's gratifying to feel her same uneven flutter in his breath--deeper in his chest, in his soul. She can't exactly be the stable rock to keep him from going adrift at the moment, but they can at least drift off together, and can probably figure things out from wherever they end up.
She shivers under the light pressure of his kiss and noses into the space where his jawbone meets his ear, just where his pulse would be; sneaks her hand up under the hem of his shirt, so she can feel his skin against hers--as if that would allow the emotions to transfer that much more smoothly.]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[He shivers, at the feel of her pressing into the sensitive skin along his jawbone - shivers a little harder, when her hand finds bare skin]
[His own hands smooth their way along the skin of her back again, there under her shirt; he curls in a little further, to press another kiss to her hair. The feeling in his chest is swelling bright and almost unbearably warm, like the midday sun, and he clutches her light close in turn, basking in it with a dawning wonder that does nothing for the stinging in his eyes]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share