WHO: Athessa, Madi, Lucien, Skull, and YOU!! WHAT: catch-all WHEN: mostly Satinalia and later WHERE: Kirkwall and The Gallows NOTES: post-murderhaus h/c is gonna go here
She goes practically boneless against him, with a soft sigh of contentment as he wraps around her.
"Much better than going to bed with a wet head," she says, unable to suppress a little shiver at his voice in her ear, the soft warmth of his breath. (It's simply not possible to ignore everything that being naked in his lap entails.)
"Thank you. For...for everything. For listening, and telling me about yourself, for helping me and...for caring."
The shiver doesn't escape him, and — well, he'd known this might be a challenge, bathing and drying off together, without the intention to turn things to sex. He's definitely not exempt from the effects either. It's the only thing that keeps his face buried instead of peppering the kisses over her face and shoulders that he might otherwise prefer.
"You've taken the words from my mouth," he murmurs. "Thank you for ... for being here, for not feeling as if you're on the verge of running. It's a rare quality, I think."
Is that what it comes down to? He thinks so. He trusts Athessa, and he trusts her now not to be spooked by any of the less polished and rawer sides that he keeps tucked away. His arms tighten firmly around her.
"I'm sick of running," she sighs, closing her eyes briefly to feel the weight of those words leave her. It might not seem like a groundbreaking thing to admit, but despite the precedent of Athessa running headlong into danger, she's been trying to escape things her whole life.
When she opens her eyes, she turns slightly to look at him, eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted. It's not her intention to be demure or seductive, but part of the problem with saying you're not going to have sex is that in doing so you inevitably make yourself think about having sex. Really, all she wants is to let him know that it isn't just fatigue that has halted her urge to run.
As open as he tends to be with his feelings, this — this is new. He's a little short on heart-to-heart conversations, and it strikes him that he doesn't really know the next line or step here. That half-lidded gaze has him — flustered? Is that the word for it? He glances away as a touch of color comes to his cheeks, and finds that it's easier to drop his head to bury his face into her hair again than it is to meet her eyes.
He laughs quietly, and has the sneaking suspicion that it might just be an embarrassed laugh. He's new to those.
"I should hope not," he murmurs into the safety of her hair, "Look at me, I'm no threat to anyone."
With his face buried in her hair, he can't see the flicker of doubt, the trepidation, poorly masked by a soft smile. It's gone by the time she speaks again, her gaze settling on the floor some distance away.
"Of course you are," she says, "You're just not a violent one."
The threat of caring too deeply, of that being unrequited, again. The threat of him vanishing, reclaimed by the Fade. The threat of love, and the expectations it would place on her even though he isn't Thedosian. He's an elf, and that comes with responsibility.
That doesn't sound quite right. His self-consciousness fades as he turns it over in his mind a few times, and leans back again for a look at her. He lifts a hand to her face, thumb gently tracing her jaw to coax her attention up and onto him.
"How do you mean?" Is that some romantic metaphor? He could read it that way, he supposes, but it doesn't sit right.
Athessa inclines her head, keeping her gaze averted until the very last second when it's impossible not to look into his eyes.
How does she explain? What words can she muster that will tell him her fears without admitting to something she can't take back? The answer is, quite simply: there aren't any words that don't expose a vital weakness, one that she doesn't know how to accept.
"I—" She swallows thickly, unable or unwilling on some baser level to say the only thing she can say to explain herself. She can't even tell him it's nothing. It's not nothing.
So she captures his mouth in a kiss. She closes her eyes against scrutiny and emotion and snakes her good arm around his neck, body pressing against his. If she gives herself over, if she distracts him from pursuing an explanation, maybe she can buy more time to work it out on her own before trying to tell him.
There's a fear in her eyes that Vanadi doesn't at all like; is this something he's done wrong, or something else? He's still mentally reviewing, darting with a frantic uncertainty from recent memory to recent memory.
This kiss, though, works as intended. It snares Vanadi's whole attention, mind at least temporarily jumping the track. He welcomes the kiss with warm enthusiasm, one arm going snug around her waist as the other brushes through hair at the back of her head.
He's left blinking in the wake of it, and far too conscious of the warm skin pressed against his. Had he been about to say something? It's gone now.
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"Much better than going to bed with a wet head," she says, unable to suppress a little shiver at his voice in her ear, the soft warmth of his breath. (It's simply not possible to ignore everything that being naked in his lap entails.)
"Thank you. For...for everything. For listening, and telling me about yourself, for helping me and...for caring."
no subject
"You've taken the words from my mouth," he murmurs. "Thank you for ... for being here, for not feeling as if you're on the verge of running. It's a rare quality, I think."
Is that what it comes down to? He thinks so. He trusts Athessa, and he trusts her now not to be spooked by any of the less polished and rawer sides that he keeps tucked away. His arms tighten firmly around her.
no subject
When she opens her eyes, she turns slightly to look at him, eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted. It's not her intention to be demure or seductive, but part of the problem with saying you're not going to have sex is that in doing so you inevitably make yourself think about having sex. Really, all she wants is to let him know that it isn't just fatigue that has halted her urge to run.
"And I don't feel like I need to run from you."
no subject
He laughs quietly, and has the sneaking suspicion that it might just be an embarrassed laugh. He's new to those.
"I should hope not," he murmurs into the safety of her hair, "Look at me, I'm no threat to anyone."
no subject
"Of course you are," she says, "You're just not a violent one."
The threat of caring too deeply, of that being unrequited, again. The threat of him vanishing, reclaimed by the Fade. The threat of love, and the expectations it would place on her even though he isn't Thedosian. He's an elf, and that comes with responsibility.
no subject
"How do you mean?" Is that some romantic metaphor? He could read it that way, he supposes, but it doesn't sit right.
no subject
How does she explain? What words can she muster that will tell him her fears without admitting to something she can't take back? The answer is, quite simply: there aren't any words that don't expose a vital weakness, one that she doesn't know how to accept.
"I—" She swallows thickly, unable or unwilling on some baser level to say the only thing she can say to explain herself. She can't even tell him it's nothing. It's not nothing.
So she captures his mouth in a kiss. She closes her eyes against scrutiny and emotion and snakes her good arm around his neck, body pressing against his. If she gives herself over, if she distracts him from pursuing an explanation, maybe she can buy more time to work it out on her own before trying to tell him.
no subject
This kiss, though, works as intended. It snares Vanadi's whole attention, mind at least temporarily jumping the track. He welcomes the kiss with warm enthusiasm, one arm going snug around her waist as the other brushes through hair at the back of her head.
He's left blinking in the wake of it, and far too conscious of the warm skin pressed against his. Had he been about to say something? It's gone now.
no subject
"Let's go to bed."