[ the question makes her realize the extent to which he has, already, gone first. in the duchess' castle, and again the next morning. even in the woods, when he showed her the monster that lived inside of him before he caught her outside the void and she had no choice but to reveal the monstrous things she too was capable of. is that not its own kind of nakedness?
he is always the one to make himself vulnerable, first. a gesture of trust, of good will, and she needs it, she does. but will she ever stop needing it, if he never stops giving it?
she lifts her hands, stays his where they unlace his tunic. ]
No. It's alright.
[ she can feel her heartbeat in her skin. the heat that climbs up her throat is made worse by the way she can feel him navigate around her weird wounds.
she separates from him slightly, enough to more easily and comfortably pull off her shift. she is less careful with the protruding bones, letting the straps and collar tangle briefly. she'd been ginger the first few days, but she'd learned quickly that it's no more sensitive than the joint of a finger—fine, as long as she isn't wrenching too hard.
she drops the white shift between them, meets his gaze breathlessly in her panties. her arms briefly, awkwardly sway in front of her, at a loss for what to do with themselves. she pushes her underwear down in one stark motion, like she's setting a bone. these, too, are kicked away, lost under a dresser. ]
no subject
he is always the one to make himself vulnerable, first. a gesture of trust, of good will, and she needs it, she does. but will she ever stop needing it, if he never stops giving it?
she lifts her hands, stays his where they unlace his tunic. ]
No. It's alright.
[ she can feel her heartbeat in her skin. the heat that climbs up her throat is made worse by the way she can feel him navigate around her weird wounds.
she separates from him slightly, enough to more easily and comfortably pull off her shift. she is less careful with the protruding bones, letting the straps and collar tangle briefly. she'd been ginger the first few days, but she'd learned quickly that it's no more sensitive than the joint of a finger—fine, as long as she isn't wrenching too hard.
she drops the white shift between them, meets his gaze breathlessly in her panties. her arms briefly, awkwardly sway in front of her, at a loss for what to do with themselves. she pushes her underwear down in one stark motion, like she's setting a bone. these, too, are kicked away, lost under a dresser. ]