The initial exploration of his hand had warranted no flinch or notable shift, met by the low rise and fall of breath, the flex of ribs and the sharply dark point of her attention on him. It has little to do with a lack of sensation—she can feel the tingle of contact by proxy, more sensitive skin responding to the shift of less. Only that the pattern of scars has lost all novelty to her; she's had them along enough that this is rote and maybe there are more interesting things to observe than the progress of his hand. For example, the line made from his ear through the angle of his neck to shoulder along which her hand travels.
"The mage or the demon?"
But she does shift in answer to the lower sweep of his touch, some flash of teeth like the start of a laugh. Cheeky.
(It's a rhetorical question.)
"No. I made certain." Her fingertips straying toward the dark pinch of his scar. "Yours?"
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Date: 2021-08-11 05:59 pm (UTC)The initial exploration of his hand had warranted no flinch or notable shift, met by the low rise and fall of breath, the flex of ribs and the sharply dark point of her attention on him. It has little to do with a lack of sensation—she can feel the tingle of contact by proxy, more sensitive skin responding to the shift of less. Only that the pattern of scars has lost all novelty to her; she's had them along enough that this is rote and maybe there are more interesting things to observe than the progress of his hand. For example, the line made from his ear through the angle of his neck to shoulder along which her hand travels.
"The mage or the demon?"
But she does shift in answer to the lower sweep of his touch, some flash of teeth like the start of a laugh. Cheeky.
(It's a rhetorical question.)
"No. I made certain." Her fingertips straying toward the dark pinch of his scar. "Yours?"