He’s finding it easy to relax for once, being in someone else’s presence that doesn’t expect anything but good conversation is good for him. Not that there hasn’t been more than just words, and for that much he’s grateful. Eilidh is different from most women he’s met, and he doesn’t know if it’s a regional thing or if there’s just something special about the way she looks at the world but he can appreciate the change of pace and scenery and view of the world. And yes, he’s glad to share little moments with her, even if they’ve been laying here so long, wrapped up in each other, that his arm has fallen asleep and pins and needles are tingling through his skin.
She’s telling him another story about a tattoo she did some years back, and he’s trying to picture it in his head. He’s usually pretty good at that but the way her mind works is a wonder to him sometimes and he only wishes he could be so creative. Lips find her forehead easily as he listens, presses a kiss there, and he hums an acknowledgment against her skin. He’s half awake, blissful and relaxed. “Never thought I’d find tattoos so interesting. I like mine, but I never really paid attention to them before now.”
“...because it had to look like it was fuckin’ movin’, too. I stole the job from Jaime for that. It was wasted on him, that kind of challenge.” Eilidh is vaguely aware that she's rambling, but she doesn’t feel bad about it. Sam iss maybe the most patient person she’s ever met; he makes her feel like she could be talking about the most boring shite in the world, and he’d listen, really listen, to every word.
The kiss does make her pause, though, scattering her train of thought as she leans into it happily. It reminds her of the present, the mattress that’s a little too soft, Sam’s warmth, the glow of the lamp by the bedside. She raises an eyebrow at him. “Everything’s more interestin’ when it’s a beautiful woman doin’ the talkin’,” she teases. “I know shite about fuckin’ air traffic control rules that nobody needs to know because I spent a summer cozied up with a girl studyin’ to be a pilot.”
Thoughtful, she runs a finger around the edges of the tattoo on Sam’s chest. The repair is healed now, and she’s happy with the way it came out, though the image will never be quite as precise as it was before. “Most people arenae interested in tattoos,” she mused. “They think they’re cool or tough, and maybe they get one that’s sentimental or they get drunk one night and want to do somethin’ adventurous. But most people dinnae really think about tattoos as an idea. About how interestin’ it is, the changes we make to our bodies that are goin’ to last for as long as we’re alive.” She grins, kissing his tattoo lightly before she looks back up at him. “It gets to be pretty fuckin’ heavy, philosophy-wise, if you let yourself get into it.”