[ He's off-balance, breathless, when she pulls away. With a blink, he tries to process her words. Teeth? He's never known her to be particularly fastidious. She tastes fine to him -- better than fine. She tastes good, like something he could gorge endlessly on -- tea and crunchy fried food and echoes of spice. He'd expected, from prior experience, that she'd press for sex; she'd always been so constantly revved up when he'd lived with her, cheerfully, innocently seductive that he'd always ended up succumbing to her and never been able to stop. Even in City, every time he saw her, she'd tried sweetly, cheekily, for whatever she could get. ]
[ But it's been three years. Maybe they've reshaped her patterns? Maybe her reluctance has to do as much with keeping a measured pace to this strange reunion, not rushing interactions that contain within them so much tension and articulated loss, as with a quiet fear? Maybe, even as she yearns for the sameness as before, she can't let herself believe it's there, because they're so out of sync after so much time apart? ]
[ He doesn't know. Instead he leans in and kisses her. Once, and then again. His own mouth still tastes like toothpaste, even under the salty detritus of breakfast: he's always taken obsessive care of his teeth, as if to avoid the risk of evil dentists and medical notice in general. The third kiss is deeper; he falls into it, what his mouth has longed for, but doesn't linger enough to be pushy. ]
[ Drawing back, he breathes, ]
I guess so.
[ It's curious but humoring. Like this is an unexpected new tic, but one he's ready to indulge. ]
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Date: 2014-12-06 10:55 pm (UTC)[ But it's been three years. Maybe they've reshaped her patterns? Maybe her reluctance has to do as much with keeping a measured pace to this strange reunion, not rushing interactions that contain within them so much tension and articulated loss, as with a quiet fear? Maybe, even as she yearns for the sameness as before, she can't let herself believe it's there, because they're so out of sync after so much time apart? ]
[ He doesn't know. Instead he leans in and kisses her. Once, and then again. His own mouth still tastes like toothpaste, even under the salty detritus of breakfast: he's always taken obsessive care of his teeth, as if to avoid the risk of evil dentists and medical notice in general. The third kiss is deeper; he falls into it, what his mouth has longed for, but doesn't linger enough to be pushy. ]
[ Drawing back, he breathes, ]
I guess so.
[ It's curious but humoring. Like this is an unexpected new tic, but one he's ready to indulge. ]