( meta ) ; the first time David ever catches himself l o o k i n g at Eve, as a woman and not as his charge; what was going on, what was he thinking, how did he feel? B)))
  Truthfully, David cannot name a definitive âfirst timeâ he looked at Eve this way. Acknowledging his feelings for her did not come all at once, but in a multitude of instances here and there â and we all very well know how stubbornly he worked to keep their relationshipâs intimacy an appropriate one. Long after heâd begun to ache and want for her, the desires alone were ( for a time ) not enough for him to step forward and claim it. There is something to be said in the way David taught E v e to take her place in the world, to pursue her desires and accept nothing less â while denying himself the same.   Some were minor things â things he never quite took for granted but in one time or another became invariably aware of in altered light. One such realization came in sacrosanct hours of the library, when Eve shifting to get comfortable saw her legs haphazardly laid across his own; half-caught between his book and in the familiarity of a thing, Davidâs hand slid warmly along her knee, then a few centimeters higher. Turning the page never seemed a more difficult reprieve. ( He touches her like he has the right to ).   Others formed from quiet indulgences kept perfectly close to his chest. Increasingly he and Eve ventured off together, usually somewhere close by â but there were occasional bouts when such trips spanned a weekend or longer. After a time, Eve became more than charge, and he more than her keeper. They were friends â even then the word always seemed ill-fitted â and David found himself looking forward to their time spent together: not in training, not tucked away in plain sight â but alone. Whether they took to the city or to the wilds with equal fervor, it was simple. David, and Eve with her camera, and a comfortable silence bisected only by the click, click, click, of a shutter, and soft tones beckoning him to look. ( He likes the way she says his name. )      David has, from the very beginning, taken a sort of voyeuristic pleasure in seeing Eve indulge in food or drink. One of many gifts that the singularity of her bloodline granted her, it is an experience he knows he can never himself live. Except here. Here he can and does live for the vicarious opportunities. Truly, this was not always as insinuating as it sounds. He cherished these moments  for the simple enjoyment to burst like starshine across her face: even when Eve found herself ill-favored to one taste or another, David took great love in being able to share in just another adventure. It was not until much, much later: when a flicker of tongue licking sugar from her mouth accompanied fleeting looks behind her lashes; when lips wrapped around the head of a beer bottle drew his gaze and intrigue much lower. ( He wonders how her mouth tastes. )    And what of her happiness? Perhaps at the risk of sounding a little smitten and cliche, David is never as greatly rewarded than when Eve enjoys herself, without fear for judgment. Let him recount endless nights when she dragged him half-asleep by the sleeve, appealing that he come, come see. Come with her to the top of the spire there, and watch the lightning storm. Tell her, has he ever seen a flock of birds so large as this? The Pack kicked them up a number of minutes ago andâ has he ever seen them hover that way before? An evening dotted in a thousand wings; the sky moving and rolling and roaring like the ocean. Yesâcountless times sheâd asked him to look, to stand with her and watch â and so often Davidâs gaze instead fixated on her upturned features, soft and curious with gentle wonderment. ( He aches just looking at her. )Â
  And, of course, there were those moments far more difficult to deny, when later years saw Eve growing bolder beneath her lashes, with her hands dared to just cross the line. He was never blind to her as she grew within her own skin, her own ability. He was not alone in that. Other men followed her with their eyes, human and Lycan both â and the way their gazes lingered too long was near enough for him to snap his teeth. But the men? They are secondary, entirely, to the problem Eve herself presents. She is the sort of problematic a man should be eager to have: beautiful, curious and wanting and soft, shameless in the way she colors, in the way she scents after a spar. He wonders why she always has to run off so soon, wonders if she would feel so light sitting astride him for real, not on the sparring mat but in her bed â  ( He dreams of the way she moans. )Â
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