[They are kind of awkward and stilted in this intimacy and yet somehow it's seamless, the way they pushed and teased and fell into this, like they walked off the edge of a cliff and kept walking not even knowing how fast they were falling. Because that's what this feels like. Falling through the sky in a way that she's never felt before. How had this happened? It's blown past the parts of her that normally turn everything into a game, a joke no one could take seriously so they never threaten anything more. So she never had to think about what more meant and the potential loss of it.
Something in her says to step back, to adjust herself, land on her feet and walk away.
But another part of her is a gaping, open wound of rotted emptiness that she never expected someone else to see right into like this. Because she's been like this all her life--the scar on her chest the cruelest and most amusing metaphor life could have gifted her with--and the only other person who ever did might be dead and gone and that's on her. At any moment of the day that knowledge hits her in the face like a physical blow and she's backing away and refusing to let it consume it like she deserves. It's all that she deserves.
And yet here's someone who sees it and gets it and Saeri has no fucking clue what she is doing except letting it happen. Because when Vi's forehead rests against her chin Saeri may as well have frozen for a moment, eyes wide and breath caught in her throat. It's like a computer needing a reboot, the way her mind just stalls. But her body seems to understand. There stuttered reaction gives way to hands running over those arms, one warm flesh and the other chilled steel, back up to those shoulders and those lines and they dig in where the puffs of smoke escape the machine.]
Never turn down the chance to tell life to fuck off and look badass at the same time, huh? Guess there's a lot of things we agree on.
[She tilts her head down more, bending over to take away the space that steams between them so she can press their foreheads together.]
I can't wait to put my ink all over you. To add onto the machine you've built.
[And maybe that shouldn't sound as suggestive as it does.]
no subject
Something in her says to step back, to adjust herself, land on her feet and walk away.
But another part of her is a gaping, open wound of rotted emptiness that she never expected someone else to see right into like this. Because she's been like this all her life--the scar on her chest the cruelest and most amusing metaphor life could have gifted her with--and the only other person who ever did might be dead and gone and that's on her. At any moment of the day that knowledge hits her in the face like a physical blow and she's backing away and refusing to let it consume it like she deserves. It's all that she deserves.
And yet here's someone who sees it and gets it and Saeri has no fucking clue what she is doing except letting it happen. Because when Vi's forehead rests against her chin Saeri may as well have frozen for a moment, eyes wide and breath caught in her throat. It's like a computer needing a reboot, the way her mind just stalls. But her body seems to understand. There stuttered reaction gives way to hands running over those arms, one warm flesh and the other chilled steel, back up to those shoulders and those lines and they dig in where the puffs of smoke escape the machine.]
Never turn down the chance to tell life to fuck off and look badass at the same time, huh? Guess there's a lot of things we agree on.
[She tilts her head down more, bending over to take away the space that steams between them so she can press their foreheads together.]
I can't wait to put my ink all over you. To add onto the machine you've built.
[And maybe that shouldn't sound as suggestive as it does.]