why do you love people who can only so go far?
there she was, pulling his mouth away from her face and into the soft crevice of her neck, beckoning him closer, lower, allowing him permission—how strange, how new—and qimir was a lot of things, a lot of things, a lot of things, but satiated was not one of them, not when it came to osha. yet he willed his hands to stay gentle and tender as they cradled her before him; he forced his parted lips to move slow against the warmth of her flushed skin.
and denying himself was one thing. he'd had practice, after all. he'd done it all this time. from the moment she'd first come closer and broke the distance—albeit, angrily, her rage outweighing her fear—from the moment she'd had her forearm pressed firmly against his chest, his back to the stone, her fist clutching his own blood-red saber to his throat, him allowing it, wanting it, even.
her expression had been wounded and furious, her face only inches away from his.
the thought had, naturally, crossed his mind at the time—as his palm had moved up with a mind of its own to caress her arm—to close the gap, even if it would have been a wildly, absurdly inappropriate moment, even if he hadn't chosen to factor in that it was most certainly just him that felt it, even if it'd killed him.
she was beautiful, to be fair. almost unfairly so. wounds and all.
still—he'd denied himself.
denying her, however? now? that, he couldn't even fathom.
