His eyes widen as she comes closer, because he's an imbecile who didn't consider in any detail the fact that she'd need to be near in order to touch him. The physical reality of it - her breasts a deep breath away from brushing up against his chest, her hand moving the soap over the back of his neck - is jarring.
It's also really, really nice. She's nice, and God, his mouth's hanging open, isn't it? Shut your mouth, de Rolo. She's very kindly not acknowledging the fact that she could have brought anyone out here with her, and the alternatives might have made far better company. But she didn't - she's here with him, cleaning who-knows-what off of him with a reassuring smile - and even he can see that's a compliment to him. (Possibly a mark of terrible taste on her part, but she'll find that out soon enough, if that's the case.)
He's going to have to relax, or he'll have a heart attack and die in a bathhouse before he's accomplished anything in his life. And fortunately, his body does seem to want to unwind: under her touch, his shoulders lose some of the years-old tension running through them. He can't quite smile, but that moment of uncertainty (all right, panic) dissolves into something more temperate.
"I suppose not. Er - thank you." This is going to be excruciating if he can't think of anything else to say. The best he can come up with is an offer he suspects won't be shot down, even if his instincts think it ought to be. "I'll return the favor after."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2025-01-13 06:37 pm (UTC)It's also really, really nice. She's nice, and God, his mouth's hanging open, isn't it? Shut your mouth, de Rolo. She's very kindly not acknowledging the fact that she could have brought anyone out here with her, and the alternatives might have made far better company. But she didn't - she's here with him, cleaning who-knows-what off of him with a reassuring smile - and even he can see that's a compliment to him. (Possibly a mark of terrible taste on her part, but she'll find that out soon enough, if that's the case.)
He's going to have to relax, or he'll have a heart attack and die in a bathhouse before he's accomplished anything in his life. And fortunately, his body does seem to want to unwind: under her touch, his shoulders lose some of the years-old tension running through them. He can't quite smile, but that moment of uncertainty (all right, panic) dissolves into something more temperate.
"I suppose not. Er - thank you." This is going to be excruciating if he can't think of anything else to say. The best he can come up with is an offer he suspects won't be shot down, even if his instincts think it ought to be. "I'll return the favor after."