I need to get this dynamic out of my head but i dont have a fic i can put it in, so I’m just gonna put it here.
Anyway, have some touch-starved bloodymary with aroallo grace, who feels very guilty (read: internalized aroallo-phobia) for wanting intimate touch without romantic love.
(but then Simon starts asking for the things Grace wants so desperately, without asking for the love he cannot give and its all good i promise)
Its nice, being held like this.
Simon must have agreed with me, because we’ve been laying here long enough to start losing track of time.
“Are… platonic cuddles just this, or am I allowed to move?” He murmered, my hair moving with each puff of his breath.
I cringed internally at the term. It came out of my mouth when I was trying to ask - very casually - for a hug, but instead what had come out was something along the lines of;
“It’s fine if you don't want to, its just a hug, just a platonic hug, it doesn't have to mean anything, actually it might be better if it doesn't mean anything, I would PREFER it not to mean anything else, it’s nothing personal, i just haven't touched another person in so long and you look like you would be so comfortable to lay on top of - im sorry that was weird, was that weird? - i dont mean that i like you like that or anything i dont wanna send - i dont know - mixed signals, im really bad at those but i just really really REALLY want to cuddle with you - just a PLATONIC cuddle-”
Simon on his back on my quilt, with me sprawled on top of him. One of my hands in his soft hair, my face in his neck, and his one arm curled around me, holding me close.
“..Grace?” Oh, I hadn't answered his question yet. What did he want to do again?
“Demonstrate?” I murmered, half-awake.
His arm, that was wrapped around my shoulder, retreated a bit before coming to rest on my ribs, slowly trailing up and down.
When his nails started scratching faintly at my ribcage, he was rewarded with a full body shiver.
His fingers hesitated. No, no please, now that i had a taste of what his touch could feel like, I needed more.
I buried my burning face into his chest and muttered, “Dont stop, please.”
Every trail of his fingers down my ribs made me melt into his chest even more. Like my body sent a message from his fingertips directly into my overactive nervous system, telling me to relax.
This was nice. This was really nice.
But Simon was not done yet;
“One more question. And please, please just say no if i’m overstepping here.”
So careful, so unsure, so I just made a little noise that hopefully sounded like a question mark.
I think it worked because he continued;
“The existence of platonic cuddling implies that platonic kissing might be a thing?”
I pulled my face away from his chest and blearily blinkend up at him. Warm brown eyes looked back at me. Soft. Safe
“May I kiss you?” he asked.
Kissing was something I’ve only ever done in context of a relationship. During that time of my life before I realised relationships were things that didn't really agree with me, and I was trying desperately to perform the actions that ‘normal’ people do in ‘normal’ relationships.
It was always supposed to mean something.
A kiss was always seen as a promise for more, a milestone in a blossoming relationship, the first step taken on a ladder that my partner expected me to climb with them.
None of those kisses were memories that I would label as ‘good’. Neutral at best, uncomfortable most often, with the occasional memory sprinkled in that was just plain bad.
But there was something about this safe little bubble that we created, where nothing in the universe existed but us, these gentle touches, and the knowledge that none of this is a performative build up to anything else.
Just two human beings reconnecting after years of solitude.
Something about that bubble made me say: “Do you want to try?”
“But,” I put one hand on his chest, “please dont be offended if I pull away too soon? I really dont know how i might react.”
“Its nothing personal, I know. You told me. I promise its fine, well just go back to cuddling. Unless you need your space after that of course.”
That nod meant a lot of things.
It was a request. Please kiss me.
He manouvered his body down so our eyes were level again. His hand slowly made its way back up my ribcage, up my shoulder, up my neck before landing to rest his warm palm on my cheek.
My eyes had fluttered closed during this slow warm trek up my body and startled back open when i felt his forehead connect with mine.
For a second, we shared a breath or two until he slowly learned in.
Soft pressure against my mouth. Warm hand holding me close. His eyelashes against my cheek.
I had never felt safe kissing someone before.
Safe to feel whatever i might be feeling. Or lack in feeling. Safe from expectations. Safe from pressure. Safe from having to reciprocate anything.
I'd never felt safe kissing someone before.
I think i started crying.
He didn't notice right away, which was nice. Just his lips on mine, his hands on my cheek and us suspended in our little bubble of warmth and comfort and connection.
Inevitably, his hand brushed the wetness on my face and pulled back
“Nothing - its not - im fine”
“Its fine, im fine - Please just”
He pulled my head down to rest on his chest. “Well, i'm not. Not fine with kissing a crying man without knowing why hes crying. So i'm just gonna hold you okay? We'll just stay like this 'till you calm down. I'm not going anywhere. Unless you tell me to go.”
God, he was so good at this. Why was he so good at this?
