Pepper and oakmoss [Candela/Blanche]
Oct. 13th, 2018 05:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Pepper and oakmoss
Fandom: Pokemon Go
Characters/Pairing: Candela/Blanche
Rating: 13+
Length: 2.7k
Summary: Blanche is too shy to say anything. It's a good thing that Candela notices this, and doesn't mind taking matters into her own hands.
Other: Drafted shortly after the designs were released (summer 2016). I had to stop playing a while ago, so if any more information was revealed about these two, I'm not up to date on it.
Blanche is written as a trans man in this one for no particular reason other than that I felt like it.
Pepper and oakmoss
The door is hard against his back. Blanche closes his eyes, counts to ten. Opens them and tries not to notice how close she is, standing with her palm flat to the door, trapping him against it. Tries to ignore the scent that clings to her. "What is it?"
Candela says something. It slips in one ear, and out the other, and Blanche can feel himself sinking. He shouldn't be so distractible. Not even in a situation like this. He should be able to concentrate, put on a mask of composure, remain as cool and collected as he always is. But as she dips her head, speaking near his ear as if to share a secret with him, his head swims from the proximity and the warmth of her breath.
"So, I heard you made a breakthrough?"
Sabotage is his first thought, followed immediately by a wash of guilt. It isn't impossible that she might probe him with questions, that she would think of a way to use his research for her own purposes. In fact, in the beginning, he would have been perfectly justified in such a suspicion. But their approaches have always been so different. And, for a long time now, their differences have been resolved, they have come to a state of equilibrium, and their rivalry has been – friendly.
He knows her far better now than he did back in the beginning, back when they both began their studies, when the tightness of the competition and the clashing of their personalities ensured that neither of them viewed the other fairly. When her brashness set his teeth on edge. When her approach – completely wrong, of course – made him want to scoff and argue sharply with her, instead of the more measured and light-hearted debates that they now exchange over lunch.
It's different now.
It's better to give her the benefit of the doubt.
"Yes." Somehow, his voice doesn't waver. Blanche breathes, and the next words come to him more steadily. "That was why I stayed late; Willow and I were discussing it." A quiet meeting amid the rustlings and twitterings of bird pokemon. It is a boon that so many of them have been transferred to the laboratory; they have formed the basis for the bulk of Blanche's research. The field trainer deserves a personal thank you for this, he thinks, and makes a note of it. Willow's words, still ringing in his ears, were enthusiastic. Encouraging. That is all.
The rest, the more important part, will be delivered to Willow later, on paper, and Blanche knows that he should be thinking about that now, that he should be leaving the laboratory and going home and marking down what he remembers of the conversation, all the better to analyze and consider and take into account everything that was said. He shouldn't be thinking about Candela, or how close she is, or that spiced scent that clings to her clothing.
"That's great! I'm happy for you."
Her words are light, cheerful. Blanche waits. Candela doesn't leave, and she doesn't continue, and she doesn't pull away.
"I should..."
Go, he thinks, but doesn't say, because her hand is on his cheek, and before he knows it, he's tilting his head into her touch.
"You should come by my place. Or I could go to yours. We could celebrate." Candela grins. The sentence is formed as a statement, but her tone makes it clear that it is actually a question. The rest is unsaid: If you want to.
It isn't the first time she's done this. It isn't the first time she's offered something like this; and Blanche does know exactly what she is offering. Ever since they became more amiable toward one another, Candela has been gently persistent. Always friendly about it, and always very clear about it, never leaving any room for doubt as to what her intentions are. And Blanche knows that he could refuse. He could turn her down, just as he has turned her down every other time she asked. Clamp down on the almost irresistible desire to say Yes, and refuse in the name of professionalism, and pretend that it isn't because the thought of actually accepting makes him feel ill with nervousness.
He could tell her, No, thank you and she would understand, and not show her disappointment.
Blanche's mouth runs dry as his insides twist and every nerve pulls tight as piano strings. He shouldn't. There are a million reasons why he should refuse, and professionalism is only one of them, and so is the fact that they are here, in the lab. But her hand on his cheek is warm, and the scent of pepper and oakmoss as she leans close to him leaves him feeling lightheaded, and he knows, just as he has known each of the other times that she hinted at something, that he doesn't want to say no.
As Blanche tries to get his thoughts in order, Candela draws away. She lets her hand rest on his shoulder instead, and smiles at him again, her expression so open and painfully understanding. "Or, you know, if you're busy, we could just go out for coffee tomorrow. Does that sound good?"
It's another out, another escape rope, and it's one that he doesn't want to take. Not this time. He has taken it every other time, every single other time that she's suggested it. A night with her. No? Then coffee. Fine. But now, for once – just this once, Blanche steels himself, and calls on every nerve. Speaks, and hears that his voice is steadier than he feels.
"Actually, tonight would be nice." He feels himself smiling, and it's everything he can do to keep from wanting to kick himself as he adds, "But it might be more appropriate to wait until the findings are finalized." Why did he say that?! He shouldn't have –
"Nah. I have a better idea. Have some fun now, and then when everything's approved, have more fun later." Candela laughs, and he realizes that in this moment, there is no sound he would rather hear. She has understood his acceptance, his intention, and now that she has wedged her foot into that door, she won't let him close it. "Besides, you look like you could unwind a little."
"Oh?"
"Always. You need to learn to relax." Candela smiles. Tilts her head, and kisses his cheek before he has time to realize what she's doing, leaving him flustered and staring, wide-eyed. "Now, come on. Your place or mine?"
He feels as if he can barely breathe. "Mine."
"Sounds great." She pulls away, and takes his hand. "Take me home."
The evening air is cool, fresh. Blanche breathes it as they slip outside, the two of them, and hopes that the change will stop his cheeks from burning. Candela falls into step beside him, her heels clicking on the walkway.
Streetlamps light their way. The sun has nearly set, leaving the sky a mixture of red and darkness, stars peeking through its blue-black ceiling. Blanche shivers, not only because of how cold it is, but because she is beside him. While this will not be the first time she has visited his apartment, nor the first time she has joined him in the evening, it is the first time with such purpose, the first time under such circumstance.
He slides his hands into the pockets of his coat, glances up at the stars, and tries to lose himself in the sound of the night, the chirping and calling and rustling. Tries not to pay so much attention to her. Tries to calm himself down, take in the cold air and steady himself with it.
His attempts prove less than fruitful, because after a moment, her arm slides around his waist.
Blanche tenses, and the touch recedes. "It's fine," he says quickly, not wanting the contact gone. "I was just surprised."
"Oh?"
"Yes."
"Okay, then."
The hold, now, is more secure. He breathes, tastes fresh air. Candela's arm is firm and warm around him. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should say something. She catches his gaze and he immediately looks away. Swallows. Tries to think, tries to come up with something to say. Something that wouldn't be an explanation, or an excuse, or something that would tie his tongue, make him trip over his words.
No idea presents itself.
She speaks first, and it's all Blanche can do to keep the relief from showing on his face.
"So! Tell me about that new discovery of yours."
There's a friendliness to her voice. That openness is still there. He takes the line she throws him, and pulls on it.
"I told you before; that will have to wait. After all, it would not do me any good to have you co-opt my research for your own purposes." It is a joke, with deadpan delivery, the way that he usually serves it. Blanche glances at her again. Even in the light from the streetlamps, he can tell that Candela is smiling. Her eyes are laughing. She caught on. Good.
Maybe this won't be so difficult after all.
As soon as they step through the door, and he presses it shut, she has him up against it again. It's just like it was back in the lab, except that this is different – they're in the privacy of his own apartment.
That changes everything.
The room is dark. He hasn't turned on the light. The switch is nearby, and he lifts a hand to reach for it, then stops. Reconsiders. Waits.
Candela touches his face, tracing the shape of it, sliding her fingertips along the edge of his jaw. Blanche can feel himself flushing. It shouldn't happen so easily, he thinks.
He gives up on the lightswitch. Lets his arm fall. Lets his hand move to her waist, and settle there, gently drawing her close to him. It is easier this way, he thinks. There is just enough light coming in through the windows to see what he needs to see.
Candela is close, closer than she was in the lab, and he's thankful that she didn't do this there, because if she had he wouldn't have been able to form a single word. As she presses up against him, his eyes fall shut. She must know what an effect this has on him, because she does it slowly, lingering. Her body against his, holding him to the door. Her hands cupping his face, warm, long fingers sinking into his hair. Her nose brushes against his cheek, and then she kisses him.
There is nothing soft about her kiss. Nothing tentative. Candela is courteous, Blanche notices, in that she cups the back of his head so that he won't knock it against the door. He's thankful for that. She's a force to be reckoned with. Her kiss is firm and hard and she pins him flat against the door as she claims his mouth for her own.
And once more, once again, he feels heady. As if he could fall. As if he never wants her to stop.
For only a moment he pauses, hesitates, uncertain. Then he opens his mouth. Lets her in. Lets her do whatever she likes. Whatever she wants. Anything.
The sensation of her mouth on his makes him shiver. It isn't that he hasn't ever; it's only that it's been – a long time. A very long time. And he has been thinking about this for a long while.
That's all it is.
So he clutches her close to him, and does his best to stay upright under the sensation of her mouth and tongue and the warmth of her body against his.
When Candela finally breaks the kiss, she lingers close, nosing along his cheek. Her breath is fluttering warmth against his ear.
"So," she says, drawing it out. Sliding the fingertips of one hand along his shoulder. Pressing closer, making Blanche suck in a breath.
But she doesn't say anything else.
"...So?" Blanche ventures.
"So."
Her lips, close, closer, until they brush against his ear. The sensation makes his eyes fly open, and he clings to her and stares over her shoulder in the dark, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his feet. When Candela speaks again, he almost doesn't comprehend what she says.
"So... did you have something in mind?"
"I..." Oh, he does have something in mind, he has many things in mind. A thousand different ideas, all of them things that he has considered before. Thoughts he's had at night, now and then. Yes, he knows exactly what Candela is talking about, but –
"If you're having second thoughts, that's okay." She's serious now, her voice softer. But she's still lingering close, and he can still feel the warmth of her, the shape of her breasts pressed against his chest, the scent of that perfume that drove him absolutely insane back in the lab, and is still driving him crazy now.
"Please understand," Blanche said carefully. "I'm not reconsidering this."
"No?"
"No." How could he put it? "I'd like to take my time. That's all."
"Glad to hear it." She rests her head on his shoulder, then. He feels her sighing. Feels her nestle into him.
Blanche chooses his next words very carefully. "This would be more comfortable in the bedroom," he says. "If you'd prefer that."
Candela laughs, little more than a huff of breath against his neck. "Sounds good to me," she says, and draws away from him. "Lead the way."
Her face is shadow in the dim light, and he wishes he could see her eyes. As he takes her hand and leads her to his bedroom, Blanche makes a note to turn on the bedside lamp. He'll be able to see her face, then. And all the rest.
Morning comes, and Blanche is thankful that he does not have anywhere he needs to be during the early hours.
He pushes open the kitchen window to let the air and sunlight in. He waters his houseplants, lets his Eevee out of its ball to scamper around the apartment, and tries to decide what to make for breakfast.
Candela is still in bed.
Blanche's gaze drifts toward the bedroom door for the fifth time this morning.
Earlier, he stole out of the bedroom, and she hadn't even stirred. He'd showered, and put on some comfortable clothing, and after checking on her again, had left the room as quietly as possible.
Now, he wonders. How long should he wait? Should he go and ask her if she would like breakfast? Should he just let her sleep?
The morning is bright. Blanche goes to the window, looking out at the rosy sky. It's still early. He should let her sleep. She's probably tired after everything, and neither of them need to go anywhere today.
What if she doesn't want to stay?
What if?
He's so lost in worrying over that possibility that he doesn't hear her enter the room. It's only when she's close to him that he hears the floor creak, and knows that it's her.
Long arms slide around his waist. He feels her press against him, and he lets out a long breath.
"Good morning," he says quietly.
"Morning." Candela perches her chin on his shoulder. Her voice is soft and dozy. "I smelled coffee."
"Yes, I made some." Blanche swallows harshly. He would like his words to be smooth and charismatic, but now, just like any other time he is alone with her, they aren't.
As her hold on him tightens, squeezing gently, he wonders if perhaps it's too early in the morning for charisma, or for being articulate, or anything of the sort. "What would you like for breakfast?" he asks.
"Don't know. Anything." She laughs. "Surprise me."
So she does want to stay, then.
He lets out a long breath and leans back into her.
"I think I can manage to do that," he says.
You need to learn to relax. That was what she had said last night. It had felt like an absolute impossibility, no matter how much he had wanted her.
But he'd said yes, hadn't he? And now, in the morning's light, everything seems easier.
He can still smell her perfume, lingering from the previous night. Closing his eyes lightly, he breathes it in.
This doesn't have to be complicated, he tells himself.
They can take it all as slowly as they like – together.
Fandom: Pokemon Go
Characters/Pairing: Candela/Blanche
Rating: 13+
Length: 2.7k
Summary: Blanche is too shy to say anything. It's a good thing that Candela notices this, and doesn't mind taking matters into her own hands.
Other: Drafted shortly after the designs were released (summer 2016). I had to stop playing a while ago, so if any more information was revealed about these two, I'm not up to date on it.
Blanche is written as a trans man in this one for no particular reason other than that I felt like it.
Pepper and oakmoss
The door is hard against his back. Blanche closes his eyes, counts to ten. Opens them and tries not to notice how close she is, standing with her palm flat to the door, trapping him against it. Tries to ignore the scent that clings to her. "What is it?"
Candela says something. It slips in one ear, and out the other, and Blanche can feel himself sinking. He shouldn't be so distractible. Not even in a situation like this. He should be able to concentrate, put on a mask of composure, remain as cool and collected as he always is. But as she dips her head, speaking near his ear as if to share a secret with him, his head swims from the proximity and the warmth of her breath.
"So, I heard you made a breakthrough?"
Sabotage is his first thought, followed immediately by a wash of guilt. It isn't impossible that she might probe him with questions, that she would think of a way to use his research for her own purposes. In fact, in the beginning, he would have been perfectly justified in such a suspicion. But their approaches have always been so different. And, for a long time now, their differences have been resolved, they have come to a state of equilibrium, and their rivalry has been – friendly.
He knows her far better now than he did back in the beginning, back when they both began their studies, when the tightness of the competition and the clashing of their personalities ensured that neither of them viewed the other fairly. When her brashness set his teeth on edge. When her approach – completely wrong, of course – made him want to scoff and argue sharply with her, instead of the more measured and light-hearted debates that they now exchange over lunch.
It's different now.
It's better to give her the benefit of the doubt.
"Yes." Somehow, his voice doesn't waver. Blanche breathes, and the next words come to him more steadily. "That was why I stayed late; Willow and I were discussing it." A quiet meeting amid the rustlings and twitterings of bird pokemon. It is a boon that so many of them have been transferred to the laboratory; they have formed the basis for the bulk of Blanche's research. The field trainer deserves a personal thank you for this, he thinks, and makes a note of it. Willow's words, still ringing in his ears, were enthusiastic. Encouraging. That is all.
The rest, the more important part, will be delivered to Willow later, on paper, and Blanche knows that he should be thinking about that now, that he should be leaving the laboratory and going home and marking down what he remembers of the conversation, all the better to analyze and consider and take into account everything that was said. He shouldn't be thinking about Candela, or how close she is, or that spiced scent that clings to her clothing.
"That's great! I'm happy for you."
Her words are light, cheerful. Blanche waits. Candela doesn't leave, and she doesn't continue, and she doesn't pull away.
"I should..."
Go, he thinks, but doesn't say, because her hand is on his cheek, and before he knows it, he's tilting his head into her touch.
"You should come by my place. Or I could go to yours. We could celebrate." Candela grins. The sentence is formed as a statement, but her tone makes it clear that it is actually a question. The rest is unsaid: If you want to.
It isn't the first time she's done this. It isn't the first time she's offered something like this; and Blanche does know exactly what she is offering. Ever since they became more amiable toward one another, Candela has been gently persistent. Always friendly about it, and always very clear about it, never leaving any room for doubt as to what her intentions are. And Blanche knows that he could refuse. He could turn her down, just as he has turned her down every other time she asked. Clamp down on the almost irresistible desire to say Yes, and refuse in the name of professionalism, and pretend that it isn't because the thought of actually accepting makes him feel ill with nervousness.
He could tell her, No, thank you and she would understand, and not show her disappointment.
Blanche's mouth runs dry as his insides twist and every nerve pulls tight as piano strings. He shouldn't. There are a million reasons why he should refuse, and professionalism is only one of them, and so is the fact that they are here, in the lab. But her hand on his cheek is warm, and the scent of pepper and oakmoss as she leans close to him leaves him feeling lightheaded, and he knows, just as he has known each of the other times that she hinted at something, that he doesn't want to say no.
As Blanche tries to get his thoughts in order, Candela draws away. She lets her hand rest on his shoulder instead, and smiles at him again, her expression so open and painfully understanding. "Or, you know, if you're busy, we could just go out for coffee tomorrow. Does that sound good?"
It's another out, another escape rope, and it's one that he doesn't want to take. Not this time. He has taken it every other time, every single other time that she's suggested it. A night with her. No? Then coffee. Fine. But now, for once – just this once, Blanche steels himself, and calls on every nerve. Speaks, and hears that his voice is steadier than he feels.
"Actually, tonight would be nice." He feels himself smiling, and it's everything he can do to keep from wanting to kick himself as he adds, "But it might be more appropriate to wait until the findings are finalized." Why did he say that?! He shouldn't have –
"Nah. I have a better idea. Have some fun now, and then when everything's approved, have more fun later." Candela laughs, and he realizes that in this moment, there is no sound he would rather hear. She has understood his acceptance, his intention, and now that she has wedged her foot into that door, she won't let him close it. "Besides, you look like you could unwind a little."
"Oh?"
"Always. You need to learn to relax." Candela smiles. Tilts her head, and kisses his cheek before he has time to realize what she's doing, leaving him flustered and staring, wide-eyed. "Now, come on. Your place or mine?"
He feels as if he can barely breathe. "Mine."
"Sounds great." She pulls away, and takes his hand. "Take me home."
The evening air is cool, fresh. Blanche breathes it as they slip outside, the two of them, and hopes that the change will stop his cheeks from burning. Candela falls into step beside him, her heels clicking on the walkway.
Streetlamps light their way. The sun has nearly set, leaving the sky a mixture of red and darkness, stars peeking through its blue-black ceiling. Blanche shivers, not only because of how cold it is, but because she is beside him. While this will not be the first time she has visited his apartment, nor the first time she has joined him in the evening, it is the first time with such purpose, the first time under such circumstance.
He slides his hands into the pockets of his coat, glances up at the stars, and tries to lose himself in the sound of the night, the chirping and calling and rustling. Tries not to pay so much attention to her. Tries to calm himself down, take in the cold air and steady himself with it.
His attempts prove less than fruitful, because after a moment, her arm slides around his waist.
Blanche tenses, and the touch recedes. "It's fine," he says quickly, not wanting the contact gone. "I was just surprised."
"Oh?"
"Yes."
"Okay, then."
The hold, now, is more secure. He breathes, tastes fresh air. Candela's arm is firm and warm around him. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should say something. She catches his gaze and he immediately looks away. Swallows. Tries to think, tries to come up with something to say. Something that wouldn't be an explanation, or an excuse, or something that would tie his tongue, make him trip over his words.
No idea presents itself.
She speaks first, and it's all Blanche can do to keep the relief from showing on his face.
"So! Tell me about that new discovery of yours."
There's a friendliness to her voice. That openness is still there. He takes the line she throws him, and pulls on it.
"I told you before; that will have to wait. After all, it would not do me any good to have you co-opt my research for your own purposes." It is a joke, with deadpan delivery, the way that he usually serves it. Blanche glances at her again. Even in the light from the streetlamps, he can tell that Candela is smiling. Her eyes are laughing. She caught on. Good.
Maybe this won't be so difficult after all.
As soon as they step through the door, and he presses it shut, she has him up against it again. It's just like it was back in the lab, except that this is different – they're in the privacy of his own apartment.
That changes everything.
The room is dark. He hasn't turned on the light. The switch is nearby, and he lifts a hand to reach for it, then stops. Reconsiders. Waits.
Candela touches his face, tracing the shape of it, sliding her fingertips along the edge of his jaw. Blanche can feel himself flushing. It shouldn't happen so easily, he thinks.
He gives up on the lightswitch. Lets his arm fall. Lets his hand move to her waist, and settle there, gently drawing her close to him. It is easier this way, he thinks. There is just enough light coming in through the windows to see what he needs to see.
Candela is close, closer than she was in the lab, and he's thankful that she didn't do this there, because if she had he wouldn't have been able to form a single word. As she presses up against him, his eyes fall shut. She must know what an effect this has on him, because she does it slowly, lingering. Her body against his, holding him to the door. Her hands cupping his face, warm, long fingers sinking into his hair. Her nose brushes against his cheek, and then she kisses him.
There is nothing soft about her kiss. Nothing tentative. Candela is courteous, Blanche notices, in that she cups the back of his head so that he won't knock it against the door. He's thankful for that. She's a force to be reckoned with. Her kiss is firm and hard and she pins him flat against the door as she claims his mouth for her own.
And once more, once again, he feels heady. As if he could fall. As if he never wants her to stop.
For only a moment he pauses, hesitates, uncertain. Then he opens his mouth. Lets her in. Lets her do whatever she likes. Whatever she wants. Anything.
The sensation of her mouth on his makes him shiver. It isn't that he hasn't ever; it's only that it's been – a long time. A very long time. And he has been thinking about this for a long while.
That's all it is.
So he clutches her close to him, and does his best to stay upright under the sensation of her mouth and tongue and the warmth of her body against his.
When Candela finally breaks the kiss, she lingers close, nosing along his cheek. Her breath is fluttering warmth against his ear.
"So," she says, drawing it out. Sliding the fingertips of one hand along his shoulder. Pressing closer, making Blanche suck in a breath.
But she doesn't say anything else.
"...So?" Blanche ventures.
"So."
Her lips, close, closer, until they brush against his ear. The sensation makes his eyes fly open, and he clings to her and stares over her shoulder in the dark, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his feet. When Candela speaks again, he almost doesn't comprehend what she says.
"So... did you have something in mind?"
"I..." Oh, he does have something in mind, he has many things in mind. A thousand different ideas, all of them things that he has considered before. Thoughts he's had at night, now and then. Yes, he knows exactly what Candela is talking about, but –
"If you're having second thoughts, that's okay." She's serious now, her voice softer. But she's still lingering close, and he can still feel the warmth of her, the shape of her breasts pressed against his chest, the scent of that perfume that drove him absolutely insane back in the lab, and is still driving him crazy now.
"Please understand," Blanche said carefully. "I'm not reconsidering this."
"No?"
"No." How could he put it? "I'd like to take my time. That's all."
"Glad to hear it." She rests her head on his shoulder, then. He feels her sighing. Feels her nestle into him.
Blanche chooses his next words very carefully. "This would be more comfortable in the bedroom," he says. "If you'd prefer that."
Candela laughs, little more than a huff of breath against his neck. "Sounds good to me," she says, and draws away from him. "Lead the way."
Her face is shadow in the dim light, and he wishes he could see her eyes. As he takes her hand and leads her to his bedroom, Blanche makes a note to turn on the bedside lamp. He'll be able to see her face, then. And all the rest.
Morning comes, and Blanche is thankful that he does not have anywhere he needs to be during the early hours.
He pushes open the kitchen window to let the air and sunlight in. He waters his houseplants, lets his Eevee out of its ball to scamper around the apartment, and tries to decide what to make for breakfast.
Candela is still in bed.
Blanche's gaze drifts toward the bedroom door for the fifth time this morning.
Earlier, he stole out of the bedroom, and she hadn't even stirred. He'd showered, and put on some comfortable clothing, and after checking on her again, had left the room as quietly as possible.
Now, he wonders. How long should he wait? Should he go and ask her if she would like breakfast? Should he just let her sleep?
The morning is bright. Blanche goes to the window, looking out at the rosy sky. It's still early. He should let her sleep. She's probably tired after everything, and neither of them need to go anywhere today.
What if she doesn't want to stay?
What if?
He's so lost in worrying over that possibility that he doesn't hear her enter the room. It's only when she's close to him that he hears the floor creak, and knows that it's her.
Long arms slide around his waist. He feels her press against him, and he lets out a long breath.
"Good morning," he says quietly.
"Morning." Candela perches her chin on his shoulder. Her voice is soft and dozy. "I smelled coffee."
"Yes, I made some." Blanche swallows harshly. He would like his words to be smooth and charismatic, but now, just like any other time he is alone with her, they aren't.
As her hold on him tightens, squeezing gently, he wonders if perhaps it's too early in the morning for charisma, or for being articulate, or anything of the sort. "What would you like for breakfast?" he asks.
"Don't know. Anything." She laughs. "Surprise me."
So she does want to stay, then.
He lets out a long breath and leans back into her.
"I think I can manage to do that," he says.
You need to learn to relax. That was what she had said last night. It had felt like an absolute impossibility, no matter how much he had wanted her.
But he'd said yes, hadn't he? And now, in the morning's light, everything seems easier.
He can still smell her perfume, lingering from the previous night. Closing his eyes lightly, he breathes it in.
This doesn't have to be complicated, he tells himself.
They can take it all as slowly as they like – together.
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