[ Their interests align; he's starved for this thing they call affection. He wants that heartsick, heartsore warmth, the lurching, bassy beat in his chest that makes him feel like he's something more than his composite parts. That there is meaning to his existence, in the absence of everything he was built for.
The look he gives her is fond and he doesn't chase the rustle of her dress as she hikes it up, not like some hot-blooded boy eager for a peek at a girl's lacy smalls, but then, he doesn't grasp the titillation of a naked body, when humanity is already terrible and beautiful alone.
He's a blank slate, but not without longing. Feeling the fabric bunch up under his arm and his hip where they bracket her on either side, he looks, only to reach back and not for what she might expect. His palm scoops under her heel, chasing the curve of her ankle, the swell of her calf. Looking, really looking, because this isn't a part she's exposed to him before, and it's every bit as fascinating as what she's got dressed up in black lace.
Too bad that it seems to take ages for him to get there, but not before he sighs: ] Stay still for me.
[ She feels soft and warm, everything he wants to be, the give of her thigh under his fingers feels especially exciting, forbidden, when he leans his hip against the side of the mattress, his metal palm spreading over her clothed belly, he pushes it slow up towards the beat of her heart. ] You're not afraid of me at all. It's, nice.
[ His metal hand ascends her breastbone, flirts with her throat and exposes it to his kiss when he tilts her jaw aside with his knuckles, stamping a tinted print against the delicate skin of her throat. ]
no subject
The look he gives her is fond and he doesn't chase the rustle of her dress as she hikes it up, not like some hot-blooded boy eager for a peek at a girl's lacy smalls, but then, he doesn't grasp the titillation of a naked body, when humanity is already terrible and beautiful alone.
He's a blank slate, but not without longing. Feeling the fabric bunch up under his arm and his hip where they bracket her on either side, he looks, only to reach back and not for what she might expect. His palm scoops under her heel, chasing the curve of her ankle, the swell of her calf. Looking, really looking, because this isn't a part she's exposed to him before, and it's every bit as fascinating as what she's got dressed up in black lace.
Too bad that it seems to take ages for him to get there, but not before he sighs: ] Stay still for me.
[ She feels soft and warm, everything he wants to be, the give of her thigh under his fingers feels especially exciting, forbidden, when he leans his hip against the side of the mattress, his metal palm spreading over her clothed belly, he pushes it slow up towards the beat of her heart. ] You're not afraid of me at all. It's, nice.
[ His metal hand ascends her breastbone, flirts with her throat and exposes it to his kiss when he tilts her jaw aside with his knuckles, stamping a tinted print against the delicate skin of her throat. ]