[ Sarangerel notices Ze is a little jumpier and terser than usual and she’s not quite certain why. He’s seen her writhe with post-climax euphoria with not a single stitch on her before; surely it can’t be her that’s causing him to be so skittish. She shrugs it off as a result of the stresses of their line of work and hums in acknowledgement to his tale. He was nearby. That explains his quickness then— or at least as far as she knows.
The notion that he might have been so eager to see her as to rush his last contract doesn’t enter her mind.
She allows him to dress down as he wishes to, without judging him or tsk’ing at him. Instead, when she comes back around to stand in front of him and he asks her about washing up, she reaches out to take his hands in hers, coming close enough to smell the dirt and sweat on him easily. ]
Slow down… Come.
[ She gives him a small reassuring smile and turns away then to lead him through the small house by the hand to the bathroom. She saw him wince earlier. Thankfully, in addition to a shower, she has a spacious bath in which he can soak his aching muscles. ]
[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.]
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is it cozy there? also do I owe you any other tags?
The notion that he might have been so eager to see her as to rush his last contract doesn’t enter her mind.
She allows him to dress down as he wishes to, without judging him or tsk’ing at him. Instead, when she comes back around to stand in front of him and he asks her about washing up, she reaches out to take his hands in hers, coming close enough to smell the dirt and sweat on him easily. ]
Slow down… Come.
[ She gives him a small reassuring smile and turns away then to lead him through the small house by the hand to the bathroom. She saw him wince earlier. Thankfully, in addition to a shower, she has a spacious bath in which he can soak his aching muscles. ]
I can wash your hair for you. If you’d like.
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.]