[ Domestic Prompts ]
He doesn’t even look up from his work when he does it; the quill in his right hand continues its illegible scratching across the paper. It’s the same when s/he passes by with another cup of strong black coffee, or a plate of kolaches; when they sit down together for a meal at the little corner table in the kitchen, or for drinks at the Raven.
He does it, too, when s/he passes by on the way to hir own worktable in the newly expanded upper level of the shop, over the clinic next door.
Whichever hand is free, it interposes itself between hir and the corner of whatever desk, table or chair s/he is passing by. Half the time, s/he bumps into it with hir hip, or even hir arm; s/he is not tall.
He does not complain.
“Why do you do that, darling?” s/he asks him, perhaps the hundredth time it happens.
“Hm? Do what?” Julian asks in turn, pushing the hair out of his eyes in just the same automatic way.
“This.” Jinana demonstrates, cupping hir hand over the corner of the desk.
His color heightens, just a little. “Oh! Uh, that... well, you see, I noticed that you always seemed to have a little bruise, right about here.” He extends a finger, poking hir in the hip. “And sometimes here.” He briefly touches hir arm, currently free of any such blemish. “So I, uh, well I mean it’s not much of a cushion, but it seems to help?” His flush increases as Jinana gives a light snort.
“Doctor Devorak, you are absolutely ridiculous.” S/he bends to place a kiss on his brow, feeling the skin heat itself under hir lips. “And I love you for it.”
