( to think how far they've come. idly, she wonders if they could see the alley and all that neighbors it from here, the same one she'd ducked into with a littering of thugs left in the snow and blood at his ribs. how easily she'd brought him into her space if it meant keeping him together. the gazes too eager to flicker away whenever they were met for too long, any touch of skin on skin only what was necessary. and now—how every part of her warms the moment he rises and turns to her, how willingly she finds herself bundled in against his chest, the familiar, comforting scent of leather and him.
that smile of his, notched into the caverns of her heart and tugging one of her own. one of ease, arms snaking around his midsection. one of home, an exhale let against his brim when his mouth finds hers.
it's the smile and his own words that break it, the two of them seeming to make a barricade from the cold, keeping the warmth hidden between them, close enough that it can't escape. head tipped back, one hand raises to brush her thumb across the edge of his brow, scanning his features the same way she always does. a press to her toes for another kiss, sweet and slow, however short, before hovering there. )
I missed you. ( necessary, that he hears it, that she says it—tangible and honest, as if already to assuage the gloom that'd found him when she hadn't been here to ward it away. )
[ his eyes fall shut with her next kiss and lets a quiet, pleased hum thrum between them for a moment. for all its sweetness and chasteness, he lingers after her kiss, longing for her so deeply in his bones that the feeling warms him from the inside out. her words ease his smile wider and loosen the hold of doubt damming it back.
she's here now. she missed him. he knows better than to request that she lean into her powers for his sake (he knows she's very conscious of their use), but the selfish joy he feels now that she has is undeniable. ]
I missed you, too. So much. I don't wanna be dramatic, but. You can't. Even. Imagine.
[ each of the last words punctuate a press of his lips, to her cheeks, her nose, her lips, then taper off to a chuckle, the kind of laugh he freely allows in only rare moments like this. ]
I don't know what it is. Being up here tonight made it so bad. I was watching everyone down there, but all I thought about you. Thank you. For coming here.
( for how infinite each day feels when they're apart, it never ceases to stun her how quickly that well of longing within her chest gives the moment she's with him again. she'll never tire of the way he chases after her mouth just slightly whenever she kisses him, how his limbs and fingers do the same when they part—the small, silent ways their bodies have learned to communicate with one another, never wanting to drift too far.
coming to terms with her magic for all its grace and knives alike had been a process, and remains one to this day—but it makes it easier when she has something like this to call use for it, when either of their impatience grows too thin for the likes of traffic jams or long flights.
his confession comes with a lighthearted chuckle, but the words carry weight just the same, bundle within her as if trying to find room. )
You don't have to thank me. I would've been here sooner if it were up to me. Yesterday. ( a nudge of their noses, sweeping her thumb across his cheek in admiration of the rouge bitten there from the cold. ) Way before yesterday. ( teeth glimmer as if to introduce a snicker, but she bites it back. )
I just don't... ( a pause, an interlude to their brief conversation before she'd arrived, voice quieting just subtly. ) I don't want you to wake up one day and feel like it's too much.
[ there's the familiar lilt to her voice when she's joking just so, a hint of the playfulness he knows and loves surfacing in a moment before she hems it back. he recognizes the doubt that replaces it. it slows her words down, and he pulls back just enough to look at her, from where he had been turning into the warmth of her palm on his cheek.
he patiently waits for those words to come tumbling out, hushed like she doesn't want to utter them at all, but she speaks to the heart of the issue and addresses the question that crawled forth in the back of his mind. if she wanted to see him, why hadn't she? ]
I wouldn't. [ does she really think he would? he recalls her message, the simple, two word question she'd sent in response to his text. do you? how it'd hurt him, how he had to control the reflexive anger that threatened to take over everything he felt.
he tried to catch her gaze, his own eyes expressive and warm and always giving so much of himself away. ]
( why hadn't she. why hadn't he asked? but it wasn't about faults, their time apart, but through him she's begun to recognize her habit of deflecting, in small moments when he lets her in. when he tells her he misses her. when he tells her he wants to feel here, for her to be there—but it's not that she's questioning how he feels for her, if it'll hold, or if he means what he says. it's trying to digest having someone so close it has the privilege of feeling too close. the knowing that he was no longer something she could lose and pick herself up from.
she can see the hurt that settles in his gaze, however softly he grants it to her, the misunderstanding that lingers there she aches to resolve. for him to know her fear wasn't doubt. that she trusted him, that she loved him too much, now, to consider the alternative.
he takes the floor before she has a chance, eyes flitting between his own, and she nods. ) Okay. ( a murmur, lifting up to administer one more kiss while her palm drops to find his own, interlocking their fingers together for him to lead the way. )
[ there's so much that goes unsaid between them, assumed in the breaths between their kisses, in their exchanged gazes and smiles that every once in a while, he wonders if he's understood something wrong.
he's not a mind-reader, but he thinks he knows her well enough by now, and that she showed up here for him when he asked speaks loudly enough through her actions rather than words. that much he knows, just like how the last kiss she presses to his lips reassures her that she's willing to listen to what he has to say.
not that he knows exactly what he's even trying to express. her small hand finds his and he threads his fingers between hers, the action coming as natural as breathing itself as they step back toward the stair door.
a short flight of stairs takes them down to his front door. the safe house is one of the penthouse suites, though it occupies only a small corner of the floor plate. he chose it for its view of the city, where he could keep a pulse with a pair of binoculars and watch for activity from the comfort of his couch. big, arching windows let the glow of the city in, though a number of warm, low lights are on. he tucked his tech away behind the folding doors earlier in the night, hiding away the four panels of LED screens, the keyboards, the trackers, and the suit, letting the safe house take on an appearance of normalcy. tonight had been his, and now, it was hers too, and he couldn't be happier about it.
the front door swings shut and there's the little beep-beep of the security system setting all measures in place. she's been here before, slept in the loft bed before, cooked breakfast with him in the kitchen, curled up on the couch before, that now, just being in this safehouse without her feels immediately like something was missing from it.
he shrugs off his jacket and takes her coat to hang them both in the entry closet, before his lips part around a quiet sigh from the way warmth settles into his body. ]
( to think how far they've come, how the magnitude of such a simple motion—his lacing his fingers with hers—has shifted over time. like the way she finds his ankle with hers in sleep, how fingertips search for the slightest curl of his forearm when they're walking. it's an intimacy that isn't missed to her, to move, touch, have without thinking, every bit an indication of her unlearning being so bitterly, so utterly alone.
maybe it should leave her unsettled, but she feels safe, here with him. that wasn't nothing.
the suite feels familiar, a seeping warmth that crackles at the cold that'd only just begun to sink into her. quiet, gaze skirting across the open floor plan, memories dotted across it—following him, barefooted and heart heavy in her chest up to that loft bed; palms at her thighs, lifting her atop the counter while breakfast simmered on the stove; cheek on the steady rise and fall of his chest on the couch, the pang of knowing she would have to leave, soon.
shoulders lift, helping him take her coat to hang it with his own, and she's only venturing further when he does so, first. )
Mm. ( a thoughtful sound, running fingertips over the back of a dining chair. ) Tea, maybe. ( a seemingly perfect companion to the cold. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
that smile of his, notched into the caverns of her heart and tugging one of her own. one of ease, arms snaking around his midsection. one of home, an exhale let against his brim when his mouth finds hers.
it's the smile and his own words that break it, the two of them seeming to make a barricade from the cold, keeping the warmth hidden between them, close enough that it can't escape. head tipped back, one hand raises to brush her thumb across the edge of his brow, scanning his features the same way she always does. a press to her toes for another kiss, sweet and slow, however short, before hovering there. )
I missed you. ( necessary, that he hears it, that she says it—tangible and honest, as if already to assuage the gloom that'd found him when she hadn't been here to ward it away. )
no subject
she's here now. she missed him. he knows better than to request that she lean into her powers for his sake (he knows she's very conscious of their use), but the selfish joy he feels now that she has is undeniable. ]
I missed you, too. So much. I don't wanna be dramatic, but. You can't. Even. Imagine.
[ each of the last words punctuate a press of his lips, to her cheeks, her nose, her lips, then taper off to a chuckle, the kind of laugh he freely allows in only rare moments like this. ]
I don't know what it is. Being up here tonight made it so bad. I was watching everyone down there, but all I thought about you. Thank you. For coming here.
no subject
coming to terms with her magic for all its grace and knives alike had been a process, and remains one to this day—but it makes it easier when she has something like this to call use for it, when either of their impatience grows too thin for the likes of traffic jams or long flights.
his confession comes with a lighthearted chuckle, but the words carry weight just the same, bundle within her as if trying to find room. )
You don't have to thank me. I would've been here sooner if it were up to me. Yesterday. ( a nudge of their noses, sweeping her thumb across his cheek in admiration of the rouge bitten there from the cold. ) Way before yesterday. ( teeth glimmer as if to introduce a snicker, but she bites it back. )
I just don't... ( a pause, an interlude to their brief conversation before she'd arrived, voice quieting just subtly. ) I don't want you to wake up one day and feel like it's too much.
no subject
he patiently waits for those words to come tumbling out, hushed like she doesn't want to utter them at all, but she speaks to the heart of the issue and addresses the question that crawled forth in the back of his mind. if she wanted to see him, why hadn't she? ]
I wouldn't. [ does she really think he would? he recalls her message, the simple, two word question she'd sent in response to his text. do you? how it'd hurt him, how he had to control the reflexive anger that threatened to take over everything he felt.
he tried to catch her gaze, his own eyes expressive and warm and always giving so much of himself away. ]
Come on. Let's go downstairs. We need to talk.
no subject
she can see the hurt that settles in his gaze, however softly he grants it to her, the misunderstanding that lingers there she aches to resolve. for him to know her fear wasn't doubt. that she trusted him, that she loved him too much, now, to consider the alternative.
he takes the floor before she has a chance, eyes flitting between his own, and she nods. ) Okay. ( a murmur, lifting up to administer one more kiss while her palm drops to find his own, interlocking their fingers together for him to lead the way. )
no subject
he's not a mind-reader, but he thinks he knows her well enough by now, and that she showed up here for him when he asked speaks loudly enough through her actions rather than words. that much he knows, just like how the last kiss she presses to his lips reassures her that she's willing to listen to what he has to say.
not that he knows exactly what he's even trying to express. her small hand finds his and he threads his fingers between hers, the action coming as natural as breathing itself as they step back toward the stair door.
a short flight of stairs takes them down to his front door. the safe house is one of the penthouse suites, though it occupies only a small corner of the floor plate. he chose it for its view of the city, where he could keep a pulse with a pair of binoculars and watch for activity from the comfort of his couch. big, arching windows let the glow of the city in, though a number of warm, low lights are on. he tucked his tech away behind the folding doors earlier in the night, hiding away the four panels of LED screens, the keyboards, the trackers, and the suit, letting the safe house take on an appearance of normalcy. tonight had been his, and now, it was hers too, and he couldn't be happier about it.
the front door swings shut and there's the little beep-beep of the security system setting all measures in place. she's been here before, slept in the loft bed before, cooked breakfast with him in the kitchen, curled up on the couch before, that now, just being in this safehouse without her feels immediately like something was missing from it.
he shrugs off his jacket and takes her coat to hang them both in the entry closet, before his lips part around a quiet sigh from the way warmth settles into his body. ]
Want a drink? Whiskey? Tea?
no subject
maybe it should leave her unsettled, but she feels safe, here with him. that wasn't nothing.
the suite feels familiar, a seeping warmth that crackles at the cold that'd only just begun to sink into her. quiet, gaze skirting across the open floor plan, memories dotted across it—following him, barefooted and heart heavy in her chest up to that loft bed; palms at her thighs, lifting her atop the counter while breakfast simmered on the stove; cheek on the steady rise and fall of his chest on the couch, the pang of knowing she would have to leave, soon.
shoulders lift, helping him take her coat to hang it with his own, and she's only venturing further when he does so, first. )
Mm. ( a thoughtful sound, running fingertips over the back of a dining chair. ) Tea, maybe. ( a seemingly perfect companion to the cold. )