[ it hits her with a sudden, almost dazzling clarity: control. daisy's used to losing people — a sad fact, but true, in that almost everyone she's ever loved has been taken from her or left her in some way. she's learned to cope with it, to some degree, even if those coping mechanisms haven't always been the most healthy. ]
You know you can come to me when you feel like that, right? [ not necessarily to hit her, though she won't say no to a spar if he needs it. but he can come to her all the same, in this space they've carved out for each other, unlabeled all the same. ] I … [ she sighs. her plate is set to the side, freeing up her hands and her lap to turn towards him, to reach out and take his hands. again. ] I know what it's feel like you're losing control.
[ and how much it sucks. how much it tears you apart, when you're used to your world operating a certain way. ]
[ there is nothing surprising about her immediate offer to help. he's learned a lot about her over a short amount of time and wanting to help those that needed it was absolutely something that drove her. he's not very familiar with a sentiment like that being used on him but he hadn't been dumb to think she wouldn't offer.
he sighs and glances down to where she's taken his hands. they're a little less battered tonight than usual, the bone broken from a few weeks ago healed and fully functional once again. ]
I don't know a way that anyone can help with this.
[ he's not going to take out his anger on her. it's not her fault and he's not that cruel of a man because he knows how angry he can get at certain times. ]
We could spar again. [ maybe she couldn't have today, but soon. she'll be healed and back to normal in the next week or so, according to the medical staff at the safehouse; she's out of practice, but it won't take long to be comfortable back in the ring. ] Or —
[ she pauses as his gaze flits back up to hers. she can see the retort ready to spill from his lips — you're not ready, you're injured, the implied i don't want to hurt you said so many times over. but this isn't about hurting her or causing her pain. it's about soothing his. with his bones healed, she feels a little less guilty about squeezing his hands, pads of her fingertips pressing into palms as they wrap around. ]
You're always so worried you're going to hurt me. [ kind, in his own way. caring, without always knowing how. she doesn't always feel deserving of it, but she appreciates it. more than he knows. ] But I'm not going to break.
[ at first, he thinks this is all about sparring. that she thinks he is going easy on her when that's the last thing he does when a spar happens. what good is training if you do not go full out. you don't get the best of your opponent and your opponent doesn't get the best of you.
but then something shifts in his head and he realizes she's talking about something else. sparring or. that's what she'd said precisely and then had gone on about how he was afraid to hurt her.
and he was especially when she was injured. he'd backed off, been careful, tentative, and easy as of late. ]
[ oh, illya. so literal, so clueless. daisy laughs, bright and bemused, and shakes her head. ]
No, I'm not talking about sparring.
[ she could be, but she's not. they're good at sparring. they're good at a lot of things — arguing, admittedly, tops the list. she'd expected his quick temper and strength to follow suit in other ways, but he'd surprised her.
she could elaborate, but she opts not to. maybe it's more fun to just watch his expression shift as the gears roll in his head. ]
[ well, it was good to be able to eliminate one thing from the list. it's a short list and he really does not think she wants him starting arguments just to get some energy out which leaves him with only one thing.
when he realizes what that one thing is, he actually blushes a bit and turns his head away so she can't see. ]
I know what you're talking about. [ now. ] I don't want to hurt you.
[ even accidentally. that's not to say the prospect isn't intriguing and enough to make his heartbeat kick up slightly. ]
I wouldn't have brought it up if I thought you would.
[ really, she's not stupid. she has enough self-preservation to not walk directly in front of a tank for no reason at all. (if there was a reason, then maybe.) ]
And I'm not just offering to make you feel better, either. [ as if something like this was a teddy bear or an extra dessert after dinner. ] It's a little selfish, too.
[oh. he's glad that she'd made sure to mention that she wasn't offering something like this just because she thought it might be an outlet he needed to get through some of his issues. he doesn't want that to be an obligation, something she thinks he needs to have in order to care about her.
he doesn't. he's not going to lie and say he doesn't like that side of their non relationship (or whatever they were calling it today) because he does. a lot.
[ so she lets go of his hands, then, and promptly shoves her face full of a lettuce wrap. she is actually hungry, and she doesn't want it to get too hot and then taste gross. that would be a waste of a dinner.
between bites (with a clear mouth), she adds: ] I would tell you if you were hurting me, you know. That's what a safeword is for.
[ apparently dinner is also going to be kink negotiation, who knew ]
[ hey, you wanna know what illya's never done before in his long, russian life? have a conversation like this. he's aware of what she's talking about so he's not that bad off but he's just going to pick up his dinner and actually eat it for lack of anything to contribute because...
he doesn't really know what to add. so, he just nods along because sure, he's with you daisy and he's trying to eat meat wrapped with lettuce while he does that. ]
A good thing to have. [ since it has the word safe in it and all. ] All right.
[ for a safeword? while he's eating a lettuce wrap? it's a perfectly legitimate question, daisy thinks. maybe he's had one before, maybe he hasn't. he didn't ask her what it was, though, so that's a good sign. ]
I usually just go with 'mercy', but whatever's fine. [ she picks at the exposed edge, pulling out a piece of what looks like chopped tomato with a considering hum. it's pretty good, she's gonna eat it. ] I'm not that picky.
[ because he's never used one in his life because he's never had to have a discussion like this with any woman he's slept with because it's never been something that's come up.
but, he was never like this with any of those people either. he chews slowly and then swallows, considering her suggestion. ]
The word does not matter to me. I will remember whatever is decided upon. [ even if it was lettuce wrap. ] I've never had to have a discussion like this before.
[ and now he just feels like an idiot for admitting that. it would have probably been better with more detail but he'd always been the type to selectively reveal portions of his life to those he deemed deserving.
and most of the time, that was no one. he kept himself and his life locked up and secured away save for dossiers and files that narrowed his life down to a few words.
her expression tells him all he really needs to know about what he's said. is she disappointed? a possibility. ]
As I said, the word doesn't matter to me. Anything is fine. I'll remember it.
[ is she disappointed? no. just — surprised, for lack of a better word, but then he's surprised her fairly consistently over the last few months. she should really consider not being surprised by these things.
daisy hums a bit under her breath, thinking, before finishing off her meal, the empty plate balanced on her lap. he still has a bit left, as it turns out, and as she turns her head to look him over, she notices how clean he looks. clearly, he's already showered. she has not. and since she's clearly comfortable enough to steal his shirts and go through his cabinets for drinking glasses and plates, she's comfortable enough to use his shower without invitation. ]
I need to shower. [ fabulous segue, daisy. you're doing amazing, sweetie. ] Why don't you finish up, and then you can let me know what you want to do when I get out.
[ and just like that, she's gone. he blinks as he watches her disappear while he sits on the couch, a plate of food balanced on one knee. he doesn't know...he doesn't really know what's just happened. had they finished the conversation? or had she wanted out of it so she'd gotten up to go shower?
it's something he sits there thinking about even while he dimly hears the water come on. does she want something like this to happen today? is she expecting him to do something when she's out of the shower?
he scowls a bit, glaring around the empty room before picking his own plate up and dumping it into his sink. he'll wash them tomorrow.
while she showers, he changes into a pair of cotton pants and a tee shirt, still debating on what to do when she's done with her shower. or maybe she wants him to go in there like she had done to him?
he's thinking about this too much. way too much. eventually, he returns to the kitchen to wash the dishes and grab some water before he pads into the bedroom and sits down, settling his things neatly on the bedside table.
does he know what he wants yet? no. but again, that's because he doesn't know what she wants him to want? that doesn't make sense. he's confused. ]
[ does she expect him to launch into something brand new immediately? no, not really. but she does think about it a little while she showers, in the same sort of way she always seems to think about these sorts of things — eyes closed, a pleased smile curving her mouth as she tips her face up to the spray, clearly enjoying the mental image. and though he doesn't come in to bother her the way she had to him before, he might hear the sound of her satisfied humming under the splashing water if he listens in the hall, a tune she remembers from home.
eventually, though, the hot water peters out, and daisy trades in wet skin for toweling off and her (his) shirt; she's exactly zero percent surprised to find him lounging in bed, looking pensive and staring into space.
cue the traditional Hey There™ pose against the doorframe, her voice startling him out of his daydream. ]
[ his reverie is broken by her reappearance and he blinks, pulling himself out of his thoughts and focusing over on her. her hair's wet around her face and she's wearing another of his shirts and somethings tightens in his chest. he rubs at the spot idly even if he knows what's happening. ]
I come here all the time.
[ for once, he knows she's teasing and tries to play along even as he swings his legs up onto the bed and crosses his arms over his stomach to watch her. ]
And lately so do you.
[ called out. ]
Did you have a good shower? [ certainly had seemed that way by the humming and all. one corner of his mouth even curls up at that and he does nothing to hold it back. ] I haven't decided what to do.
[ but instead of staring pensively into space, he could just stare at her? ]
[ tonight, as opposed to however many nights where she's either just invited herself or they've been elsewhere and wound up here — but the way she grins, bright and unabashed, might signal just how pleased she is at the change. every time he initiates something, daisy smiles; maybe someday, the dots will connect. 'to make smile, do action', russian man 101.
her head tips down, hands lifting to squeeze at her damp hair, water droplets trailing down to form little pools on her neck and shoulders. she probably should have hung on to the towel, but too late now. ]
[ and he doesn't regret that one bit. he doesn't mind when she just shows up or comes back with him after they've been out but he knows there's a significance when he does something because it's not typical. even he's aware of the fact that he's usually not the person to make the plans out of the two of them.
he doesn't immediately answer the next question because he gets a little caught up in watching her...do that thing with her hair. she's puddling water on his floor but he does not care. ]
I haven't made a list. [ because it was very hard to find paper in this city. ] Television. Sleep. Talking though you know I am no good at that.
[ so there, self-deprecating spy. deal with the compliment. she'd say more, but her attention diverts to the feeling of her hair between the palms of her hands as they flatten out, rolling the now-damp strands between them to wring out any remaining moisture. when she's satisfied, she flips her hair back with a quick run of her hands from temple to crown, wiping them off on the hem of the shirt once she's done. it's a practiced movement, more so out of necessity than anything else. ]
And watching tv, and sleeping. It's a little early to go to sleep, though. [ but maybe he's ready. he did fight for who knows how long. ] Are you already tired?
[ she'll stay with him while he falls asleep, though. if she's still awake, she'll just dick around online until she's ready to pass out — she's done it before, she'll do it again. ]
[ he'd been a little weary earlier, upset at what he perceives as an inability to do anything to help those he kept close and the anger that he let course through him. sometimes, it was exhausting to be angry as often as he was but it's been such a facet of his life for so long that he has no idea how to change that.
he doesn't think he even wants to change it. he's an angry man who's trying to learn to outlet that in different ways since his life has been in a constant state of upheaval since his arrival to this place. ]
It was just one of the suggestions that I thought of. [ his suggestions are not all that exciting though. he chews on the inside of his cheek while he continues to watch her steadily. ] I'm fine. Wide awake. Fueled by lettuce wraps.
[ listen, lettuce wraps are good for you. he should be glad she's voluntarily eating actual food — there had been a time in her life when she'd survived solely on microwave ramen and cheese puffs, so lettuce wraps and stirfry bowls are significant improvements. she's less likely to die of sodium intake, in any case.
she considers his statement for a moment longer before she opts to come join him on the bed, climbing up on the raised platform and claiming a space. there's a comfortable beat of silence as she gets settled, eventually opting to nudge his legs apart at the knees so that she can sit between them, her head leaning back against his chest.
the television isn't very interesting, but there's a movie on that doesn't look half bad, so daisy leaves it on that. something to watch, even if it's not that good. ]
You can change it, if you want. [ obviously? it's his tv? but she says it anyway, mostly just for something to say. ]
[ perhaps one day he'll be used to her easy displays of affection but today is not that day. that doesn't mean he's shocked or expressing surprise in some obvious fashion but he still is albeit quietly and subtly. when you molded your life into something so isolationist and solitary, having that change in a short amount of time was going to take some time to adapt to.
but, he lets her move his legs around and sits back so she's more comfortable when she eventually settles. she turns on the television but his attention stays focused on her especially since she can't really see him looking. ]
No, this is fine.
[ he doesn't even know what's on. his eyes are roaming over the curve of a shoulder underneath his shirt, the wet ends of her hair, the way said hair lays against her neck, the warmth of her against his chest, and how he can feel her breathe through her back and his chest. ]
[ it's not the best movie in the world, but daisy finds herself engrossed in watching fairly easily — the plot's fast enough that she wants to know what's going on, and so as illya's eyes skim over her skin, her own stay front-and-center.
every so often, she comments about something, and he gives a quiet response, just something to let her know he's listening. she doesn't know if he's watching or not, but she doesn't think too much of it; she's more of a chatterbox than he is even on her quieter days, and if he'd rather rest his eyes after a long day, he's welcome to do so.
but she does, after a while, let her hands shift from in her own lap to settle atop his legs instead, her fingertips trailing idle patterns against the thin cotton of his pajamas. nothing overtly teasing, just comfortable touch, lazy affection as her attention follows the show. ]
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[ it hits her with a sudden, almost dazzling clarity: control. daisy's used to losing people — a sad fact, but true, in that almost everyone she's ever loved has been taken from her or left her in some way. she's learned to cope with it, to some degree, even if those coping mechanisms haven't always been the most healthy. ]
You know you can come to me when you feel like that, right? [ not necessarily to hit her, though she won't say no to a spar if he needs it. but he can come to her all the same, in this space they've carved out for each other, unlabeled all the same. ] I … [ she sighs. her plate is set to the side, freeing up her hands and her lap to turn towards him, to reach out and take his hands. again. ] I know what it's feel like you're losing control.
[ and how much it sucks. how much it tears you apart, when you're used to your world operating a certain way. ]
I want to help.
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he sighs and glances down to where she's taken his hands. they're a little less battered tonight than usual, the bone broken from a few weeks ago healed and fully functional once again. ]
I don't know a way that anyone can help with this.
[ he's not going to take out his anger on her. it's not her fault and he's not that cruel of a man because he knows how angry he can get at certain times. ]
It is just...it's fine.
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[ she pauses as his gaze flits back up to hers. she can see the retort ready to spill from his lips — you're not ready, you're injured, the implied i don't want to hurt you said so many times over. but this isn't about hurting her or causing her pain. it's about soothing his. with his bones healed, she feels a little less guilty about squeezing his hands, pads of her fingertips pressing into palms as they wrap around. ]
You're always so worried you're going to hurt me. [ kind, in his own way. caring, without always knowing how. she doesn't always feel deserving of it, but she appreciates it. more than he knows. ] But I'm not going to break.
[ her tone is sincere, but serious. ]
I can handle it.
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but then something shifts in his head and he realizes she's talking about something else. sparring or. that's what she'd said precisely and then had gone on about how he was afraid to hurt her.
and he was especially when she was injured. he'd backed off, been careful, tentative, and easy as of late. ]
You're not talking about sparring, are you?
[ just to...double check. ]
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No, I'm not talking about sparring.
[ she could be, but she's not. they're good at sparring. they're good at a lot of things — arguing, admittedly, tops the list. she'd expected his quick temper and strength to follow suit in other ways, but he'd surprised her.
she could elaborate, but she opts not to. maybe it's more fun to just watch his expression shift as the gears roll in his head. ]
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when he realizes what that one thing is, he actually blushes a bit and turns his head away so she can't see. ]
I know what you're talking about. [ now. ] I don't want to hurt you.
[ even accidentally. that's not to say the prospect isn't intriguing and enough to make his heartbeat kick up slightly. ]
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[ really, she's not stupid. she has enough self-preservation to not walk directly in front of a tank for no reason at all. (if there was a reason, then maybe.) ]
And I'm not just offering to make you feel better, either. [ as if something like this was a teddy bear or an extra dessert after dinner. ] It's a little selfish, too.
[ it's not just about you, kuryakin. ]
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[ oh. he's glad that she'd made sure to mention that she wasn't offering something like this just because she thought it might be an outlet he needed to get through some of his issues. he doesn't want that to be an obligation, something she thinks he needs to have in order to care about her.
he doesn't. he's not going to lie and say he doesn't like that side of their non relationship (or whatever they were calling it today) because he does. a lot.
it's just not a requirement. ]
I...wasn't aware. [ now he is though. ] I am now.
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[ so she lets go of his hands, then, and promptly shoves her face full of a lettuce wrap. she is actually hungry, and she doesn't want it to get too hot and then taste gross. that would be a waste of a dinner.
between bites (with a clear mouth), she adds: ] I would tell you if you were hurting me, you know. That's what a safeword is for.
[ apparently dinner is also going to be kink negotiation, who knew ]
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[ hey, you wanna know what illya's never done before in his long, russian life? have a conversation like this. he's aware of what she's talking about so he's not that bad off but he's just going to pick up his dinner and actually eat it for lack of anything to contribute because...
he doesn't really know what to add. so, he just nods along because sure, he's with you daisy and he's trying to eat meat wrapped with lettuce while he does that. ]
A good thing to have. [ since it has the word safe in it and all. ] All right.
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[ for a safeword? while he's eating a lettuce wrap? it's a perfectly legitimate question, daisy thinks. maybe he's had one before, maybe he hasn't. he didn't ask her what it was, though, so that's a good sign. ]
I usually just go with 'mercy', but whatever's fine. [ she picks at the exposed edge, pulling out a piece of what looks like chopped tomato with a considering hum. it's pretty good, she's gonna eat it. ] I'm not that picky.
[ a Lie. ]
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[ because he's never used one in his life because he's never had to have a discussion like this with any woman he's slept with because it's never been something that's come up.
but, he was never like this with any of those people either. he chews slowly and then swallows, considering her suggestion. ]
The word does not matter to me. I will remember whatever is decided upon. [ even if it was lettuce wrap. ] I've never had to have a discussion like this before.
[ A Truth. ]
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[ he seems to be following along, though, so daisy wonders how much she needs to explain. ]
But you understand the concept, obviously.
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[ and now he just feels like an idiot for admitting that. it would have probably been better with more detail but he'd always been the type to selectively reveal portions of his life to those he deemed deserving.
and most of the time, that was no one. he kept himself and his life locked up and secured away save for dossiers and files that narrowed his life down to a few words.
her expression tells him all he really needs to know about what he's said. is she disappointed? a possibility. ]
As I said, the word doesn't matter to me. Anything is fine. I'll remember it.
[ time to eat some more. ]
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[ is she disappointed? no. just — surprised, for lack of a better word, but then he's surprised her fairly consistently over the last few months. she should really consider not being surprised by these things.
daisy hums a bit under her breath, thinking, before finishing off her meal, the empty plate balanced on her lap. he still has a bit left, as it turns out, and as she turns her head to look him over, she notices how clean he looks. clearly, he's already showered. she has not. and since she's clearly comfortable enough to steal his shirts and go through his cabinets for drinking glasses and plates, she's comfortable enough to use his shower without invitation. ]
I need to shower. [ fabulous segue, daisy. you're doing amazing, sweetie. ] Why don't you finish up, and then you can let me know what you want to do when I get out.
[ great talk. bye! ]
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it's something he sits there thinking about even while he dimly hears the water come on. does she want something like this to happen today? is she expecting him to do something when she's out of the shower?
he scowls a bit, glaring around the empty room before picking his own plate up and dumping it into his sink. he'll wash them tomorrow.
while she showers, he changes into a pair of cotton pants and a tee shirt, still debating on what to do when she's done with her shower. or maybe she wants him to go in there like she had done to him?
he's thinking about this too much. way too much. eventually, he returns to the kitchen to wash the dishes and grab some water before he pads into the bedroom and sits down, settling his things neatly on the bedside table.
does he know what he wants yet? no. but again, that's because he doesn't know what she wants him to want? that doesn't make sense. he's confused. ]
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eventually, though, the hot water peters out, and daisy trades in wet skin for toweling off and her (his) shirt; she's exactly zero percent surprised to find him lounging in bed, looking pensive and staring into space.
cue the traditional Hey There™ pose against the doorframe, her voice startling him out of his daydream. ]
Hey there. You come here often?
[ she is so funny. ]
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I come here all the time.
[ for once, he knows she's teasing and tries to play along even as he swings his legs up onto the bed and crosses his arms over his stomach to watch her. ]
And lately so do you.
[ called out. ]
Did you have a good shower? [ certainly had seemed that way by the humming and all. one corner of his mouth even curls up at that and he does nothing to hold it back. ] I haven't decided what to do.
[ but instead of staring pensively into space, he could just stare at her? ]
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[ tonight, as opposed to however many nights where she's either just invited herself or they've been elsewhere and wound up here — but the way she grins, bright and unabashed, might signal just how pleased she is at the change. every time he initiates something, daisy smiles; maybe someday, the dots will connect. 'to make smile, do action', russian man 101.
her head tips down, hands lifting to squeeze at her damp hair, water droplets trailing down to form little pools on her neck and shoulders. she probably should have hung on to the towel, but too late now. ]
What are the options?
[ you know, for things to do. ]
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[ and he doesn't regret that one bit. he doesn't mind when she just shows up or comes back with him after they've been out but he knows there's a significance when he does something because it's not typical. even he's aware of the fact that he's usually not the person to make the plans out of the two of them.
he doesn't immediately answer the next question because he gets a little caught up in watching her...do that thing with her hair. she's puddling water on his floor but he does not care. ]
I haven't made a list. [ because it was very hard to find paper in this city. ] Television. Sleep. Talking though you know I am no good at that.
[ other things probably. ]
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[ so there, self-deprecating spy. deal with the compliment. she'd say more, but her attention diverts to the feeling of her hair between the palms of her hands as they flatten out, rolling the now-damp strands between them to wring out any remaining moisture. when she's satisfied, she flips her hair back with a quick run of her hands from temple to crown, wiping them off on the hem of the shirt once she's done. it's a practiced movement, more so out of necessity than anything else. ]
And watching tv, and sleeping. It's a little early to go to sleep, though. [ but maybe he's ready. he did fight for who knows how long. ] Are you already tired?
[ she'll stay with him while he falls asleep, though. if she's still awake, she'll just dick around online until she's ready to pass out — she's done it before, she'll do it again. ]
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[ he'd been a little weary earlier, upset at what he perceives as an inability to do anything to help those he kept close and the anger that he let course through him. sometimes, it was exhausting to be angry as often as he was but it's been such a facet of his life for so long that he has no idea how to change that.
he doesn't think he even wants to change it. he's an angry man who's trying to learn to outlet that in different ways since his life has been in a constant state of upheaval since his arrival to this place. ]
It was just one of the suggestions that I thought of. [ his suggestions are not all that exciting though. he chews on the inside of his cheek while he continues to watch her steadily. ] I'm fine. Wide awake. Fueled by lettuce wraps.
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she considers his statement for a moment longer before she opts to come join him on the bed, climbing up on the raised platform and claiming a space. there's a comfortable beat of silence as she gets settled, eventually opting to nudge his legs apart at the knees so that she can sit between them, her head leaning back against his chest.
the television isn't very interesting, but there's a movie on that doesn't look half bad, so daisy leaves it on that. something to watch, even if it's not that good. ]
You can change it, if you want. [ obviously? it's his tv? but she says it anyway, mostly just for something to say. ]
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but, he lets her move his legs around and sits back so she's more comfortable when she eventually settles. she turns on the television but his attention stays focused on her especially since she can't really see him looking. ]
No, this is fine.
[ he doesn't even know what's on. his eyes are roaming over the curve of a shoulder underneath his shirt, the wet ends of her hair, the way said hair lays against her neck, the warmth of her against his chest, and how he can feel her breathe through her back and his chest. ]
Perfectly fine.
[ whatever it is. ]
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[ it's not the best movie in the world, but daisy finds herself engrossed in watching fairly easily — the plot's fast enough that she wants to know what's going on, and so as illya's eyes skim over her skin, her own stay front-and-center.
every so often, she comments about something, and he gives a quiet response, just something to let her know he's listening. she doesn't know if he's watching or not, but she doesn't think too much of it; she's more of a chatterbox than he is even on her quieter days, and if he'd rather rest his eyes after a long day, he's welcome to do so.
but she does, after a while, let her hands shift from in her own lap to settle atop his legs instead, her fingertips trailing idle patterns against the thin cotton of his pajamas. nothing overtly teasing, just comfortable touch, lazy affection as her attention follows the show. ]
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count the commas in this tag
i counted nine
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wanted to write smut, wrote fuckin garbage emotions instead
but you know i love the garbage
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