whirlwiind:
she always wants to kiss him, smelly or not, and that… that was the entire problem. a desperation for intimacy that crossed boundaries she had never been taught - boundaries that seem ingrained in the core of his person. if she had her way, she would always be as close to him as possible: holding his hand, leaning on him for support, curled up against him at night. it’s difficult to sleep between the nightmares and the noises, but if it was him- she would sleep better if she could listen to his heart and his breathing. she functions better when she knows he’s there with her. and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with any of it, but it made her FORWARD and BLUNT and-
maybe a little too much to handle for someone like him.
she’s mid-step when his words reach her and she stops in place, her foot hovering inches above the ground. they way they are spoken is quick and inconsequential, but the words themselves are heavy and purposeful. the water’s cold, but there are plenty of ways to keep warm. an invitation without being direct. an offer without truly extending one. her foot lowers to the ground, toes pushing against the dirt as she turns to look at him.
another woman - a more LUSTFUL woman - would only see rippling muscles pulled taught by the cold, but she sees the blush in his chest and his cheeks and all the way up to the tips of his ears. the way his smile reaches his eyes and the hand that remains extended to mindlessly pet marco. the softness around the edges of his form and lingering in the way he looks at her.
❝ are you cold? ❞ it’s an innocent enough question, but there’s another meaning layered beneath the obvious. ❛ are you sure? do you want me here? only if you’re ready. no need to rush. ❜ she kicks off her boots and pulls of her gloves, shedding her clothes until she’s in nothing but her undershirt. everything is still more or less covered as she wades into the water, but the option to remove everything is left up to him. it seems a good compromise, but her skin still itches and feels heavy.
maker, it IS freezing. cold enough that it cuts through the fat on her legs and straight down to the bone. she’s shivering the second the water reaches her thighs, arms shaking and desperate for his warmth. but there’s something slowing her movements as she walks further in the water and it isn’t the cold.
her heart is beating frantically against her ribs. her breathing stammers as a nervousness that she only feels in his presence settles in her chest. she stops when the water’s come up to her chest, hesitating for a moment, only to be thrown forward when marco rears up out of the water behind her in an attempt to settle his paws on her shoulders. he yelps when his paws slip off her shoulder, dew claws digging harshly at her skin. she nearly goes under, hands lashing out to grab anything she can reach in an attempt to stay upright. not that she can’t swim but-
she can’t swim with a dog on her back.
‘FREEZING,’ he says a bit breathlessly, the heat blossoming across his chest and face belying how cold he truly is. there’s a lump in his throat that wasn’t there previously as he takes her in, just in her undershirt that’s now turned sheer from the water. he can see her breast-band through it. it’s clinging to her goosebump-covered flesh, the hairs on her skin standing straight up from the cold.
has his tongue always felt like sand paper?
maker, he’s warm enough to turn the little stream nearly to BOILING. he’s really, really thankful that the water covers up the lower half of him. not that she probably cares, but...
this is new.
intimacy. caring for someone IN THIS WAY. he’s knocked from his breathless, awed staring when marco rears up onto her back and she goes flying, nearly under the surface of the water, and instinct has him throwing himself forward to catch her. a purebred mabari weighs half as much as he does, AT LEAST, and elena --
the result of both dog and man’s panicked attempts to get to her result in a painful collision of bodies -- her elbow cocks him in the jaw, his knee slams into her calf, but they’ve both managed to avoid going COMPLETELY underwater.
he GRUNTS as he tries to right himself.
‘i suppose marco thinks you need to be wetter,’ he says before it even occurs to him the potential for innuendo in his words. and then it HITS him. ‘FOR THE BATH. i meant for the bath.’













