“Ouais, c'est accablant,” Bastien says, with the sort of drawling indulgence that marks hyperbole rather than outright sarcasm. “How about: I put down my book to make room for your face.”
High praise. Higher than a kiss, really, as far as Bastien goes. But that’s coming, too. While he goes on he’s shifting, anchoring an elbow to the ground, lifting his head to get closer.
“And now every moment I spend looking at your cheekbones or your—“ What’s the word. “—ridiculous eyelashes, that is a moment I continue not knowing if the heroine will kill the outlaw who murdered her fiancé, or discover he is the lost heir and her fiancé was the villain all along. The story could really go either way. It is right on the edge of resolution. And I am putting up with this instead.”
The last bit might be more convincingly aggrieved if it weren’t begun with a smile and finished right against Byerly’s mouth, where Bastien stays—off center, mouth parted just enough for his front teeth to touch By’s bottom lip, pausing to wait for an answer.
no subject
High praise. Higher than a kiss, really, as far as Bastien goes. But that’s coming, too. While he goes on he’s shifting, anchoring an elbow to the ground, lifting his head to get closer.
“And now every moment I spend looking at your cheekbones or your—“ What’s the word. “—ridiculous eyelashes, that is a moment I continue not knowing if the heroine will kill the outlaw who murdered her fiancé, or discover he is the lost heir and her fiancé was the villain all along. The story could really go either way. It is right on the edge of resolution. And I am putting up with this instead.”
The last bit might be more convincingly aggrieved if it weren’t begun with a smile and finished right against Byerly’s mouth, where Bastien stays—off center, mouth parted just enough for his front teeth to touch By’s bottom lip, pausing to wait for an answer.