Balthier doesn't think there's anything illicit to her promise to keep him in bed a long while, and in some ways that makes it more comforting and more fragile. Some part of him knows what he's worth to her when they play their game, knows what the rules are. But he'd be lying if he said the prospect of just being wanted as company wasn't utterly desirable. Nor does he have the energy to follow through on these pings of frayed, worried thoughts, and maybe that's a blessing of its own.
The way she manages to shake him out of his head and keep him focused on the good between them is starting to feel familiar. There are no words for how thankful he is for that, especially tonight, and when she kisses him back and lingers against him, he gives her a warm smile. "Good," he says, that she's feeling better, that he's less of a worry.
He lets her lead him across the hall, charmed and a little floored himself at how easy this closeness is. The room may be sparse, but the sheer novelty of real privacy makes it the most wonderful luxury he could imagine, especially following a hot bath.
When she slips out of his hold and into the blankets, holding an arm open to him, he gladly obliges, nestling in beside her. The combined heat of their bodies, bolstered by the bathwater, creates a cocoon of warmth against the cold softness of the blankets. He wraps his arm around her back and middle, resting his chin on her head. There's something ... different that he's feeling tonight, thought his thoughts are still slow and muddy so he doesn't trust his observations. But when she makes that comment, he squeezes her, exhaling a little heavier than he means. "Me too," he admits, and that pressure in his face is back. "I like being here."
For a moment, a wave of fear and nausea bubbles in him again, the passing thought of having lost her in all this more upsetting to him than he'd have expected. He tries to steady his breathing, burying his nose in her hair. The sense of panic at having to obey orders, the terror of anyone but her having had that control-- He kisses her temple, rocking her gently. If their roles had been reversed, he would hate himself right now.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-11-13 01:47 am (UTC)The way she manages to shake him out of his head and keep him focused on the good between them is starting to feel familiar. There are no words for how thankful he is for that, especially tonight, and when she kisses him back and lingers against him, he gives her a warm smile. "Good," he says, that she's feeling better, that he's less of a worry.
He lets her lead him across the hall, charmed and a little floored himself at how easy this closeness is. The room may be sparse, but the sheer novelty of real privacy makes it the most wonderful luxury he could imagine, especially following a hot bath.
When she slips out of his hold and into the blankets, holding an arm open to him, he gladly obliges, nestling in beside her. The combined heat of their bodies, bolstered by the bathwater, creates a cocoon of warmth against the cold softness of the blankets. He wraps his arm around her back and middle, resting his chin on her head. There's something ... different that he's feeling tonight, thought his thoughts are still slow and muddy so he doesn't trust his observations. But when she makes that comment, he squeezes her, exhaling a little heavier than he means. "Me too," he admits, and that pressure in his face is back. "I like being here."
For a moment, a wave of fear and nausea bubbles in him again, the passing thought of having lost her in all this more upsetting to him than he'd have expected. He tries to steady his breathing, burying his nose in her hair. The sense of panic at having to obey orders, the terror of anyone but her having had that control-- He kisses her temple, rocking her gently. If their roles had been reversed, he would hate himself right now.