[He cannot help it- so ill-at-ease and unfamiliar with the emotions he is courting now by being in her home- by coming to her when bid for as small a thing as being missed. In battle or lust he is practiced. In hostility and insult can he find cover. Here, where his efforts are focused upon making peace- on brushing past established boundaries- he is unnerved.
She, unnerves him, in a way both vexing and humbling.]
Terrified I’ll botch the job? [The reply is as light as he can make it, thinking back to their shared night in Ishgard when she took to finger-combing his hair with a tenderness that did not belong in the early stages of this evolution of their relationship. He had pitted it to post-coital euphoria, a love of being close and content and little else. He had only distantly acknowledged the pleasantry of it, afterward, to be stroked so tenderly with calloused fingers so accustomed to violence.
Fingers that have now enclosed about his own and lead him onward- deeper into the house and past the entrance and all its trappings. Unbidden, his gaze wanders- seeking further and more about Sarangerel’s home and thus about her. Looking for trinkets, discarded belongings left to linger in forgotten corners, or if it is as desolate and deserted as his own imagined home to be should he have ever deigned to have one instead of drifting from one temporary place of lodging to the next.]
no it is damp and gross. :(
She, unnerves him, in a way both vexing and humbling.]
Terrified I’ll botch the job? [The reply is as light as he can make it, thinking back to their shared night in Ishgard when she took to finger-combing his hair with a tenderness that did not belong in the early stages of this evolution of their relationship. He had pitted it to post-coital euphoria, a love of being close and content and little else. He had only distantly acknowledged the pleasantry of it, afterward, to be stroked so tenderly with calloused fingers so accustomed to violence.
Fingers that have now enclosed about his own and lead him onward- deeper into the house and past the entrance and all its trappings. Unbidden, his gaze wanders- seeking further and more about Sarangerel’s home and thus about her. Looking for trinkets, discarded belongings left to linger in forgotten corners, or if it is as desolate and deserted as his own imagined home to be should he have ever deigned to have one instead of drifting from one temporary place of lodging to the next.]