[ there has been more to all of this, for kabru too, since those days in the dungeon. kabru's not known for his honesty— he dives and weaves around questions, chooses indirect answers, talks in circles. but, not with mithrun. there is something in the elf that seems to force him to honesty; he'd found that they spoke openly, that caring for someone who could not care for himself— well. he'd never felt so needed.
sex isn't so different, is it. a different need, a different sort of care, but still— when he thinks of mithrun needing him, even if it's just a matter of physicality, there's that same satisfaction. it's nice too, to have it go both ways. he can picture that scarred, bony body underneath him; imagines what it will be like to press his thighs apart, to dig his fingers into skin and coax an arch from his back.
he's thought about it before now, too. so. and here mithrun is, saying things like just let me know whenever you want to, as if that's on the table whenever kabru's inclined. what an offer.
odd— the air feels more humid. when he meets mithrun's eye now, that sizzle of tension seems to snap quietly; like a subsurface pulse. he'll write all of this down to the shock of being brought here— why wouldn't he be off-kilter? he shifts, moves closer to the elf, sitting directly beside him, a leg bent to bracket the elf's thigh. ] You shouldn't just say things like that, you know. You have to make me wonder.
[ but, his eyes are warm, and kabru reaches, lays a hand on mithrun's forearm, fingers closing around it. they're close, the height difference putting them at a curiously intimate angle. kabru's lashes raise and lower as he studies mithrun's face in turn. ]
I nearly kissed you at the harvest festival, when we were both drunk. You were wearing blue, and I thought you were beautiful. [ it didn't happen; courtly business took over, as usual— and of course, that's a kabru memory. he seems to sober, and there's a self-conscious furrow of his brows. ] Should I have told you that?
no subject
sex isn't so different, is it. a different need, a different sort of care, but still— when he thinks of mithrun needing him, even if it's just a matter of physicality, there's that same satisfaction. it's nice too, to have it go both ways. he can picture that scarred, bony body underneath him; imagines what it will be like to press his thighs apart, to dig his fingers into skin and coax an arch from his back.
he's thought about it before now, too. so. and here mithrun is, saying things like just let me know whenever you want to, as if that's on the table whenever kabru's inclined. what an offer.
odd— the air feels more humid. when he meets mithrun's eye now, that sizzle of tension seems to snap quietly; like a subsurface pulse. he'll write all of this down to the shock of being brought here— why wouldn't he be off-kilter? he shifts, moves closer to the elf, sitting directly beside him, a leg bent to bracket the elf's thigh. ] You shouldn't just say things like that, you know. You have to make me wonder.
[ but, his eyes are warm, and kabru reaches, lays a hand on mithrun's forearm, fingers closing around it. they're close, the height difference putting them at a curiously intimate angle. kabru's lashes raise and lower as he studies mithrun's face in turn. ]
I nearly kissed you at the harvest festival, when we were both drunk. You were wearing blue, and I thought you were beautiful. [ it didn't happen; courtly business took over, as usual— and of course, that's a kabru memory. he seems to sober, and there's a self-conscious furrow of his brows. ] Should I have told you that?