[ At first Tseng doesn’t move, and Aerith can look at him away from consciousness shaping his expression into unreadable masks. A divided part of his mind still registers everything: the warmth of her body as she inches closer, and incidentally the way her weight shifts on the slope dug by his shoulder, the light touch of her fingers. When she brushes through the ends of his hair, subtly, Tseng's lashes flicker. It's not a sudden awakening, more like a quiet acknowledgment that he's been aware for some time. His breathing deepens, and with it, he opens his eyes. Dark, calm, and focused, they meet hers.
He, also, was too aware the night before to be surprised now.
Tseng has memorized every detail of her face, presently. His gaze lingers anyway. The unguarded smile on her lips, the warmth of her gaze, the way she fills the air between them with a quiet joy are all fragments that have been shown to him. He hadn't permitted himself to touch them before.
His hand, resting between them, flexes. The leather of his gloves is harder than the skin on his fingertips. ]
I am. [ His answer offers nothing to hide behind. They'd been even more direct with each other last night.
Where the sheets slide off of her shoulder, he can see how her breasts curve away from her chest. He touches her forearm, feeling tendons stiff with the strand of his hair pinched between her fingers.
Tseng knows what he should say. That this can't happen again. That they've crossed a line neither of them can even afford to acknowledge.
But he says none of it.
His thumb brushes over her pulse, his hand wraps around her wrist. ]
kevin is sad he can't watch, that little voyeur
He, also, was too aware the night before to be surprised now.
Tseng has memorized every detail of her face, presently. His gaze lingers anyway. The unguarded smile on her lips, the warmth of her gaze, the way she fills the air between them with a quiet joy are all fragments that have been shown to him. He hadn't permitted himself to touch them before.
His hand, resting between them, flexes. The leather of his gloves is harder than the skin on his fingertips. ]
I am. [ His answer offers nothing to hide behind. They'd been even more direct with each other last night.
Where the sheets slide off of her shoulder, he can see how her breasts curve away from her chest. He touches her forearm, feeling tendons stiff with the strand of his hair pinched between her fingers.
Tseng knows what he should say. That this can't happen again. That they've crossed a line neither of them can even afford to acknowledge.
But he says none of it.
His thumb brushes over her pulse, his hand wraps around her wrist. ]