"Why not," he drawls as he steps in dangerously close to her, making
himself comfortable in her personal space, almost daring her to take a step
back or pass some trite, flippant comment thinly veiling her discomfort,
barely enough space between their hearts that she can unconsciously breathe
him in and remind herself of what his presence and his warmth feels and
smells and tastes like.
She might not have asked for help but he would spare her the indignity of
struggling and flailing around awkwardly. Steady hands rub over her
shoulders and glide around her waist to help divest her of her jacket and
gunbelt, blazing an invisible hot trail across her cool skin. Where he
might have once let his hands wander playfully over the curve of her ass,
he's notably very restrained with only his nimble fingers plucking deftly
at buckles and buttons.
And then he's out of her face, out of her bubble as he makes sure
everything she's planning on taking off (for now) is hanging within easy
access.
"I would take you to the end of the world if that was where you wanted to
go. Brought you anywhere unannounced. With or without other company
present." And he well knows the risks of doing that. She isn't exactly the
most inconspicuous or polite of companions he's had over his agonisingly
long years. Still, the heart wants what it wants. Yes he is selfish, yes he
isn't perfect, but his is an undying kind of devotion. And he isn't ashamed
to admit as much.
"Last I checked a pack of wolves tend to survive longer than the lone one,"
he points out quietly, flashing her a smile that doesn't quite reach his
eyes. "But I wouldn't dare assume. A great many things can change in a
hundred years or two."
He too finds a vacant hook for his own jacket, gunbelt and hat, gives it a
testing tug before hanging up all his cowboy accoutrements. Wouldn't want
to tear a hole in the wall from unloading all his burdens now.
"Might I be able to do anything for you around here tonight?" Other things
she might have been struggling with without both arms at her disposal. He
can be a fairly domesticated gunslinger, all things considered. And keeping
them both busy is far easier than talking, isn't it?
no subject
"Why not," he drawls as he steps in dangerously close to her, making himself comfortable in her personal space, almost daring her to take a step back or pass some trite, flippant comment thinly veiling her discomfort, barely enough space between their hearts that she can unconsciously breathe him in and remind herself of what his presence and his warmth feels and smells and tastes like.
She might not have asked for help but he would spare her the indignity of struggling and flailing around awkwardly. Steady hands rub over her shoulders and glide around her waist to help divest her of her jacket and gunbelt, blazing an invisible hot trail across her cool skin. Where he might have once let his hands wander playfully over the curve of her ass, he's notably very restrained with only his nimble fingers plucking deftly at buckles and buttons.
And then he's out of her face, out of her bubble as he makes sure everything she's planning on taking off (for now) is hanging within easy access.
"I would take you to the end of the world if that was where you wanted to go. Brought you anywhere unannounced. With or without other company present." And he well knows the risks of doing that. She isn't exactly the most inconspicuous or polite of companions he's had over his agonisingly long years. Still, the heart wants what it wants. Yes he is selfish, yes he isn't perfect, but his is an undying kind of devotion. And he isn't ashamed to admit as much.
"Last I checked a pack of wolves tend to survive longer than the lone one," he points out quietly, flashing her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "But I wouldn't dare assume. A great many things can change in a hundred years or two."
He too finds a vacant hook for his own jacket, gunbelt and hat, gives it a testing tug before hanging up all his cowboy accoutrements. Wouldn't want to tear a hole in the wall from unloading all his burdens now.
"Might I be able to do anything for you around here tonight?" Other things she might have been struggling with without both arms at her disposal. He can be a fairly domesticated gunslinger, all things considered. And keeping them both busy is far easier than talking, isn't it?