[ In time or place otherwise none of this would be possible, her pride and her sheer refusal against any of this - comfort or closeness outside of so very few - made it impossible.
But in the lack of care she has right now, the touch of his fingers are their own argument. The swell of music like rock pool wells, bubbling up and up in a silence so profound herself she cannot remember ever being such. Like she is no more than a bowl, waiting for the overflow to show purpose. Her face turns, her eyes close and she turns into the crook of his neck with warm slow breaths. The settle of her hand is flat to his chest. When he prompts, she moves, unspoken explanation as she extends against him. Her hair trickling dark and wet, splashing water in a measured drip, drip, drip. Kinder than blood, soft and staining like the holy rivers she had grown up splashing divinity about in.
And when at last music and sensation give grace to the first real sensation of herself she has since this began, she manages only simply Gildor and it is her own, and it is enough. ]
no subject
But in the lack of care she has right now, the touch of his fingers are their own argument. The swell of music like rock pool wells, bubbling up and up in a silence so profound herself she cannot remember ever being such. Like she is no more than a bowl, waiting for the overflow to show purpose. Her face turns, her eyes close and she turns into the crook of his neck with warm slow breaths. The settle of her hand is flat to his chest. When he prompts, she moves, unspoken explanation as she extends against him. Her hair trickling dark and wet, splashing water in a measured drip, drip, drip. Kinder than blood, soft and staining like the holy rivers she had grown up splashing divinity about in.
And when at last music and sensation give grace to the first real sensation of herself she has since this began, she manages only simply Gildor and it is her own, and it is enough. ]