Did he forget this feeling, even among all the things he could, can, never forget? He can't remember. Doesn't want to recount the memory of year numbers that will always be so known. He doesn't want to (want to) forget this, right now, this moment, this feeling. Even for a few seconds peace.
His fingers parade with more pressure at the hiss, between differing types of cloth, without the aim to remove it -- yet. Which is not the same as not the want. Almost as though purposely staying just those tiny millimeters from actual contact, too far to actually touch, too close not to notice.
Tracing from the rise of hip bones to the curve of lower back.
"If you could hear yourself," is given with a a glance up, shamelessness over every reaction caught up in flaring golden amber eyes.
no subject
His fingers parade with more pressure at the hiss, between differing types of cloth, without the aim to remove it -- yet. Which is not the same as not the want. Almost as though purposely staying just those tiny millimeters from actual contact, too far to actually touch, too close not to notice.
Tracing from the rise of hip bones to the curve of lower back.
"If you could hear yourself," is given with a a glance up, shamelessness over every reaction caught up in flaring golden amber eyes.