[ 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. ]
[ he could doze off, he realizes. he's warm and he feels less like he's losing control of a situation that is already slipping out of his grasp and she's there, doing nothing but giving him the comfort that her presence brings (when that had happened, he does not know). he could shut his eyes and he could fall asleep.
but then she touches him and he shivers, a reaction that banishes any sleepiness for the time being. he'd become so overly focused on just tracing the lines of her body and memorizing how she felt against him that he'd forgotten that touch could be a thing.
she hadn't. it's a light touch, a gentle touch so he tries to cover up the shiver by shifting like he was getting more comfortable and by saying nothing. watch the movie, ignore his sensitivity. ]
[ he jostles her a bit with his shifting, and for a moment, her attention is drawn back to him, peering up at him with a tilt back of her head. ]
You okay? [ a quiet murmur, the words blurring together from lazy diction. her hand on his leg stills, palm flattening against his thigh to gently smooth up and down, a soothing gesture. ] I can stop, if it hurts.
[ it shouldn't. she wasn't exerting that much pressure. but perhaps he's still nursing an injury, or his legs are asleep. better to ask, concern furrowing her brow, than to continue to cause him discomfort unintentionally. ]
[ far from it, in fact. he reaches forward and covers one of her hands with his, giving it a warm squeeze before letting go. ]
At all. I promise. [ his legs actually look the least damage when he was fighting since everyone tended to go for his face. it's silly in a way because, being as tall as he is, they should go for his legs.
they just never do. ]
I'm fine. [ just -- he doesn't even know how to describe it. ] I apologize. I'm fine, keep watching your movie.
[ she doesn't sound entirely sure she believes him, but her expression softens, a fond smile slipping into place as her head settles back against his chest.
to be sure, though, daisy doesn't immediately go back to her ministrations against his legs. her hand instead reaches for the one that covered her own, tugging it back to rest face up against his knee, exposing the pale skin of his palm to the delicate touch of her fingertips and more of those same patterns, now drawn on more sensitive space. ]
You're not watching, are you?
[ "your movie", he'd said. her head turns in, cheek pressing against his shirt. clearly, neither of them are that invested in the noise on the tv. ]
[ he's glimpsed bits and pieces in the moments where he hasn't been looking at her or tucked up in his own head with his thoughts but if she asked him what was going on, he would not be able to tell her.
his fingers twitch a little as she touches him, reactions born by the sensitivity of his palm and wrist in general. he would not call it ticklish but it is certainly close. ]
I was watching other things. [ and 'other things' hadn't been the far wall for once in his life. ]
[ a hum of consideration echoes in her chest, the sound carrying through as she leans back against him. she has an idea of what he might be looking at — more than an idea, really. the window's an option, but with the shades drawn to block out the light, it's unlikely. with the sparse decor, there aren't very many options.
when you add in his quiet, almost distracted reply ... well, daisy finds it fairly easy to connect those last remaining dots. ]
You could do more than watch.
[ if you wanted to, unstated but hopefully understood. her fingertips push forward, a slow drag as her palm flattens against his in order to clasp their hands together, thumb brushing over the back of his hand as she turns his wrist. ]
[ he understands. he doesn't immediately react, choosing instead to twitch just the slightest bit at the drag of her fingers against his wrist and hand, proving that even giant russians had their extra sensitive spots. but that's forgotten when she laces her fingers with his and tugs his hand a bit. ]
I would not want to interrupt your movie.
[ he might have meant that a few weeks ago when things were new and he still wasn't sure what it was she wanted from him (despite her best efforts). this time, he's actually teasing just the slightest bit. his voice is still as deep as it usually is but he tries to instill some lightness so she, at least, can tell he's joking.
[ she's teasing all the same, but it's subdued. instead of daisy's usual sharp humor, her voice sounds almost distracted, as light and whispery as it is, just the softest hint of something warm and wanting around the edges. ]
Or not. [ her face turns in for a moment, a gentle kiss pressed against into the fabric of his shirt. ] I don't care.
[ clearly, there's something more interesting up for discussion. ]
[ illya has serious doubts that he's even going to remember this movie existed after tonight. maybe, if she found it on television a few months from now (and does he realize he's thinking of this in months? no, he does not and don't point it out), he might recognize an image or two but probably not. ]
You have something else in mind to fill the time? [ look, he knows. he's not that dumb. when she turns, he lifts his other hand, curving it around the back of her neck and kneading just slightly. she's still warm from the shower and he murmurs something too quiet to really be heard. ]
[ she doesn't answer right away. she hums, acknowledgement and agreement both in a warm one-note trail of sound, and lets her head tip forward a bit as his hand comes up to span over the back of her neck. a pleased, appreciative sound, almost a groan, might signal her approval of the touch.
after a beat or two, daisy adds, casual as anything: ] It might fill more than time.
[ though he can't see it, the corners of her mouth quirk up at her own joke. ]
[ too bad he laughs at the same, a quick, short sound that he clamps down on quickly. it's not that he doesn't like to laugh, he just...doesn't really expect to laugh. but that terrible joke had surprised it out of him.
illya keeps his hand against the back of her neck for a few moments longer before letting it wander up into her hair. he tangles a few strands around his fingers and then gives the barest of tugs just to see what she'd do. ]
[ it is a bad joke. he's not wrong. but he laughed all the same, and so did she, so she thinks that makes it a pretty good joke by definition. ]
You like my bad jokes.
[ also true. she'd elaborate, she would — but her attention is drawn elsewhere by the sensation of his fingers threading through the hair at the nape of her neck, the slow drag of weight downward that has her adjusting with the motion. her head tips back as requested, eyes fluttering closed; instead of speaking, a soft sound rumbles in her throat.
what she'll do, apparently, is whatever his hands are guiding her to do. ]
[ it's heady, having control like this even for a moment. he's used to being in control of all situations, to having a precise amount of say of how he'll get from one point to another.
this is an entirely different thing altogether. he's not planning anything because he has no idea what the next five minutes might hold. so, it's a tenuous, risky kind of control and it gives him a quiet thrill.
keeping a hand in her hair, illya leans forward and drags his mouth from the edge of her jaw down her neck and to her shoulder where he breathes in, breathes out. ]
[ she doesn't often give up control. even when he touches her, there's usually a push on her end, unspoken if not outright explicit instruction on what she wants and how she wants it — but this? this is different.
this is daisy breathing in the scent of him, feeling the warmth of his mouth as it slopes over her jaw and neck and the hollow above her collarbone, anticipating his next move but having no idea what it might be. this is knowing what she wants, but allowing him to change her mind, one touch at a time... as long as it's not just one touch and then nothing else.
though she doesn't outright tell him what to do, she offers encouragement all the same, her free hand lifting to splay out against his back, quiet sounds slipping through her open mouth with each touch. ]
Edited (i... was not done??? words???) 2019-02-20 17:46 (UTC)
[ he's trying not to think too much. trying being the operative word. because a part of him just wants this to be something slow and soft and completely focused on her but the other part can't quite stop thinking about their conversation of earlier. about what she'd offered and how enticing something like that sounded.
he's trying not to overthinking because he's hoping clarity will just come to him but — he realizes he might just have to ask her if she has a preference. he also realizes she might not give him an answer.
so.
he lifts his head until his lips are close to her ear and just stay there for a moment, letting his breath brush against her before dipping lower and finally talking. ]
How are your injuries?
[ it's important to know for a few things that might be floating through his head. he's not intending to stop but he does want to make sure that he doesn't do the wrong thing for her physical health. ]
[ her head feels heavy, weighed down by contentment and comfort — when he speaks, it takes her a moment to blink, to rouse herself into responding; when she does, it's calm, almost sweet as her mouth curves into a lazy smile. ] They're better, [ gentle reassurance ] Don't worry.
[ she's past the point of fear and fragility. now, her only instructions are to avoid repetitive injury — so no sparring, to avoid blows to the ribs, and no getting into fights to avoid breaks anywhere else. she's allowed to run and walk and resume her daily activities, so long as she gives herself breaks.
not that she thinks that's what he means. no, daisy remembers their conversation too. though she doesn't mean to let herself get her hopes up, her heartbeat ticks a speed higher all the same, warmth and wanting blanketing her limbs. ]
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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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but then she touches him and he shivers, a reaction that banishes any sleepiness for the time being. he'd become so overly focused on just tracing the lines of her body and memorizing how she felt against him that he'd forgotten that touch could be a thing.
she hadn't. it's a light touch, a gentle touch so he tries to cover up the shiver by shifting like he was getting more comfortable and by saying nothing. watch the movie, ignore his sensitivity. ]
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You okay? [ a quiet murmur, the words blurring together from lazy diction. her hand on his leg stills, palm flattening against his thigh to gently smooth up and down, a soothing gesture. ] I can stop, if it hurts.
[ it shouldn't. she wasn't exerting that much pressure. but perhaps he's still nursing an injury, or his legs are asleep. better to ask, concern furrowing her brow, than to continue to cause him discomfort unintentionally. ]
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[ far from it, in fact. he reaches forward and covers one of her hands with his, giving it a warm squeeze before letting go. ]
At all. I promise. [ his legs actually look the least damage when he was fighting since everyone tended to go for his face. it's silly in a way because, being as tall as he is, they should go for his legs.
they just never do. ]
I'm fine. [ just -- he doesn't even know how to describe it. ] I apologize. I'm fine, keep watching your movie.
count the commas in this tag
[ she doesn't sound entirely sure she believes him, but her expression softens, a fond smile slipping into place as her head settles back against his chest.
to be sure, though, daisy doesn't immediately go back to her ministrations against his legs. her hand instead reaches for the one that covered her own, tugging it back to rest face up against his knee, exposing the pale skin of his palm to the delicate touch of her fingertips and more of those same patterns, now drawn on more sensitive space. ]
You're not watching, are you?
[ "your movie", he'd said. her head turns in, cheek pressing against his shirt. clearly, neither of them are that invested in the noise on the tv. ]
i counted nine
[ he's glimpsed bits and pieces in the moments where he hasn't been looking at her or tucked up in his own head with his thoughts but if she asked him what was going on, he would not be able to tell her.
his fingers twitch a little as she touches him, reactions born by the sensitivity of his palm and wrist in general. he would not call it ticklish but it is certainly close. ]
I was watching other things. [ and 'other things' hadn't been the far wall for once in his life. ]
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when you add in his quiet, almost distracted reply ... well, daisy finds it fairly easy to connect those last remaining dots. ]
You could do more than watch.
[ if you wanted to, unstated but hopefully understood. her fingertips push forward, a slow drag as her palm flattens against his in order to clasp their hands together, thumb brushing over the back of his hand as she turns his wrist. ]
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I would not want to interrupt your movie.
[ he might have meant that a few weeks ago when things were new and he still wasn't sure what it was she wanted from him (despite her best efforts). this time, he's actually teasing just the slightest bit. his voice is still as deep as it usually is but he tries to instill some lightness so she, at least, can tell he's joking.
trying to joke. ]
You looked quite enthralled.
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[ she's teasing all the same, but it's subdued. instead of daisy's usual sharp humor, her voice sounds almost distracted, as light and whispery as it is, just the softest hint of something warm and wanting around the edges. ]
Or not. [ her face turns in for a moment, a gentle kiss pressed against into the fabric of his shirt. ] I don't care.
[ clearly, there's something more interesting up for discussion. ]
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[ illya has serious doubts that he's even going to remember this movie existed after tonight. maybe, if she found it on television a few months from now (and does he realize he's thinking of this in months? no, he does not and don't point it out), he might recognize an image or two but probably not. ]
You have something else in mind to fill the time? [ look, he knows. he's not that dumb. when she turns, he lifts his other hand, curving it around the back of her neck and kneading just slightly. she's still warm from the shower and he murmurs something too quiet to really be heard. ]
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after a beat or two, daisy adds, casual as anything: ] It might fill more than time.
[ though he can't see it, the corners of her mouth quirk up at her own joke. ]
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[ too bad he laughs at the same, a quick, short sound that he clamps down on quickly. it's not that he doesn't like to laugh, he just...doesn't really expect to laugh. but that terrible joke had surprised it out of him.
illya keeps his hand against the back of her neck for a few moments longer before letting it wander up into her hair. he tangles a few strands around his fingers and then gives the barest of tugs just to see what she'd do. ]
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You like my bad jokes.
[ also true. she'd elaborate, she would — but her attention is drawn elsewhere by the sensation of his fingers threading through the hair at the nape of her neck, the slow drag of weight downward that has her adjusting with the motion. her head tips back as requested, eyes fluttering closed; instead of speaking, a soft sound rumbles in her throat.
what she'll do, apparently, is whatever his hands are guiding her to do. ]
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this is an entirely different thing altogether. he's not planning anything because he has no idea what the next five minutes might hold. so, it's a tenuous, risky kind of control and it gives him a quiet thrill.
keeping a hand in her hair, illya leans forward and drags his mouth from the edge of her jaw down her neck and to her shoulder where he breathes in, breathes out. ]
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this is daisy breathing in the scent of him, feeling the warmth of his mouth as it slopes over her jaw and neck and the hollow above her collarbone, anticipating his next move but having no idea what it might be. this is knowing what she wants, but allowing him to change her mind, one touch at a time... as long as it's not just one touch and then nothing else.
though she doesn't outright tell him what to do, she offers encouragement all the same, her free hand lifting to splay out against his back, quiet sounds slipping through her open mouth with each touch. ]
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he's trying not to overthinking because he's hoping clarity will just come to him but — he realizes he might just have to ask her if she has a preference. he also realizes she might not give him an answer.
so.
he lifts his head until his lips are close to her ear and just stay there for a moment, letting his breath brush against her before dipping lower and finally talking. ]
How are your injuries?
[ it's important to know for a few things that might be floating through his head. he's not intending to stop but he does want to make sure that he doesn't do the wrong thing for her physical health. ]
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[ she's past the point of fear and fragility. now, her only instructions are to avoid repetitive injury — so no sparring, to avoid blows to the ribs, and no getting into fights to avoid breaks anywhere else. she's allowed to run and walk and resume her daily activities, so long as she gives herself breaks.
not that she thinks that's what he means. no, daisy remembers their conversation too. though she doesn't mean to let herself get her hopes up, her heartbeat ticks a speed higher all the same, warmth and wanting blanketing her limbs. ]
This is nice.
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wanted to write smut, wrote fuckin garbage emotions instead
but you know i love the garbage
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