...is the uninhibited thought barely formed before he can think twice. Messer's throat runs dry at the force of the feeling, but he doesn't get the chance to speak it through the haze before she's moving. Whether it's him or her, it's happened enough for him to be familiar. Except neither of them leaves this time. Her fingers slip through his hair, carving through his awareness with a clarity that makes his chest pang. Mustering up enough strength to move with her comes naturally after that, knowing how much more of a burden he's just made out of himself. Soon enough, he's flat on his back, the monitors soothing over to steady blips. He's irritated at them, at being confined, but he supposes he only has himself to blame.
Then the presence of the remote intrudes his peripherals, and he turns his face aside to stare at it. Probably for a little too long, really. Flatly at first, then with a sudden creased brow and set jaw. Messer's gaze flicks up Kaname's arm, settling on her face with some of his usual intensity. He knows that tone. ]
I don't need it.
[ Though that won't be his only dumb stunt of the day. (Clearly, given his track record lately.) Despite his insistence, he reaches up. He slips the remote from her grasp, discarding it. Instead, he returns to trail his fingertips along her palm. His movement is still slow, somewhat stilted. Pain is a factor, but so is wonder. An awe that she's actually still here with him. And him wondering — is this okay?
Messer's fingers lace with Kaname's, skin callused from years of piloting still soft against the grooves of her knuckles. ]
no subject
...is the uninhibited thought barely formed before he can think twice. Messer's throat runs dry at the force of the feeling, but he doesn't get the chance to speak it through the haze before she's moving. Whether it's him or her, it's happened enough for him to be familiar. Except neither of them leaves this time. Her fingers slip through his hair, carving through his awareness with a clarity that makes his chest pang. Mustering up enough strength to move with her comes naturally after that, knowing how much more of a burden he's just made out of himself. Soon enough, he's flat on his back, the monitors soothing over to steady blips. He's irritated at them, at being confined, but he supposes he only has himself to blame.
Then the presence of the remote intrudes his peripherals, and he turns his face aside to stare at it. Probably for a little too long, really. Flatly at first, then with a sudden creased brow and set jaw. Messer's gaze flicks up Kaname's arm, settling on her face with some of his usual intensity. He knows that tone. ]
I don't need it.
[ Though that won't be his only dumb stunt of the day. (Clearly, given his track record lately.) Despite his insistence, he reaches up. He slips the remote from her grasp, discarding it. Instead, he returns to trail his fingertips along her palm. His movement is still slow, somewhat stilted. Pain is a factor, but so is wonder. An awe that she's actually still here with him. And him wondering — is this okay?
Messer's fingers lace with Kaname's, skin callused from years of piloting still soft against the grooves of her knuckles. ]