[ that little whisper of assurance makes her grab fistfuls of his tunic, clinging to him, dragging him closer to her and slipping more comfortably back into the passion of the moment. forgetting the way her own nakedness feels like an ill-fit corset, constricting and chafing.
she has never thought he had anything to atone for, but his appeal has a quality of desperation about it. like it is less about her perception of his sins and more about needing to return to himself, to feel himself again.
how nice it must be, she thinks, to even know what that is.
so she doesn't refuse him. doesn't assuage him, when it would only be empty. she kisses him again, drawing him back towards her bed. ]
I did like the look of you on your knees, moi tsar. [ she sits on the edge of the bed, then scoots further back onto it. she keeps her hold on his shirt, tugging him onto it with her. it's a wide space, with both of the room's beds shoved together now, no longer an untouched monument to her missing friend. ]
no subject
she has never thought he had anything to atone for, but his appeal has a quality of desperation about it. like it is less about her perception of his sins and more about needing to return to himself, to feel himself again.
how nice it must be, she thinks, to even know what that is.
so she doesn't refuse him. doesn't assuage him, when it would only be empty. she kisses him again, drawing him back towards her bed. ]
I did like the look of you on your knees, moi tsar. [ she sits on the edge of the bed, then scoots further back onto it. she keeps her hold on his shirt, tugging him onto it with her. it's a wide space, with both of the room's beds shoved together now, no longer an untouched monument to her missing friend. ]