[It makes a lot of sense in hindsight. Miss Malkuth, who is as precise as anything with her architectural drawings, who thrives on details held in her hands, wants certainty. She wants security. Something even as simple as this confession must be groundbreaking - instead of a bird in the bush, its a bird in the hand. Here he is, bedraggled and wet, nestling into her palm.]
[The wavering of her voice makes a trickle of fear course down his spine, if only for a moment - perhaps he was too assumptive. It's best not to tread lines. But suddenly, the shade of red that blossoms on her skin makes his own eyes slight. It reminds her of when he had massaged her ankle, grasped her calf, called her by her other name. He swallows. What was once a rapid heart now feels like a hummingbird, a wave of heat sparking on the tips of his ears to turn them crimson in its wake]
[Perhaps if he simply said his part without having touched her hand, that self-sabotaging part of him could have potentially snaked its way, made him assume the worst. But then she reaches out with her other hand (she's shaking like a leaf) and grasps him there.]
[He knows he's done for. She has captured him. Head, heart, mind, and body. He's been skewered on his own thorns of passion, grown from her well-kept garden.]
[Vergilius shifts a little closer, scarred hands dropping to rest lightly over the sides of her chest. Safe and secure. He's a bodyguard here, after all. She "hired" him for that, once.]
Of course. Miss Malkuth.
[A murmured promise, and he bends in with vibrant eyes, allows her hands to shift off of his face for a moment.]
[He feels he has hungered for this from when she touched his face for the first time. A insatiable little monster of a wish.]
no subject
[The wavering of her voice makes a trickle of fear course down his spine, if only for a moment - perhaps he was too assumptive. It's best not to tread lines. But suddenly, the shade of red that blossoms on her skin makes his own eyes slight. It reminds her of when he had massaged her ankle, grasped her calf, called her by her other name. He swallows. What was once a rapid heart now feels like a hummingbird, a wave of heat sparking on the tips of his ears to turn them crimson in its wake]
[Perhaps if he simply said his part without having touched her hand, that self-sabotaging part of him could have potentially snaked its way, made him assume the worst. But then she reaches out with her other hand (she's shaking like a leaf) and grasps him there.]
[He knows he's done for. She has captured him. Head, heart, mind, and body. He's been skewered on his own thorns of passion, grown from her well-kept garden.]
[Vergilius shifts a little closer, scarred hands dropping to rest lightly over the sides of her chest. Safe and secure. He's a bodyguard here, after all. She "hired" him for that, once.]
Of course. Miss Malkuth.
[A murmured promise, and he bends in with vibrant eyes, allows her hands to shift off of his face for a moment.]
[He feels he has hungered for this from when she touched his face for the first time. A insatiable little monster of a wish.]
[A kiss to build a dream on.]