[ Annie tilts her head slightly, almost listening to the way their minds interact. In this moment she's more than just hyper-focused on him, she can't hear anyone else. That's new and interesting. She and Shep had gotten together to quickly wind off some of the adrenaline from their escape but-- Hadn't been like that. She knows, the way you know things in a dream, that it's because Nyx is already hers. A part of her constellation, her gravity.
In a way, she only wishes she were half as sure as he is, about what he's fighting for, about where he's going. Maybe she wouldn't hurt so much, if she'd ever had a clear idea of it. If she and all her -- mostly dead -- schoolmates hadn't been manipulated into a life of violence and arrogance predicated on the pleasure of one alien bitch who hadn't actually given a shit about them. She tries to be past that, but every responsibility she's given herself has come with the guilty knowledge that she wasn't doing it for the right reasons. That there was something selfish in her desperate bid to be a fucking person, even though she knows how little of her really meets that mark.
Curious, roughened fingertips press on the web of his scar. She recognizes the shape of it. There'd been a girl with electricity at the Academy, more than a few classmates had worn that kind of mark. A faint smirk. She reaches for him, doesn't bother to tell him he's too fucking big, that doesn't match her easy facade of confidence. Everyone she wants is just the right size for her. Her hand is cool on the back of his neck, her mouth inevitably tastes like cigarettes and coffee.
She can feel the reactions to her own touch. Not just the shift of muscle under her hand but the roil of hormone and blood on the other end, turning thoughts warm and liquid. She definitely wants more of that. Starts thinking about how to get it, heat and filth and want washing over him vividly. They need to be a lot sweatier already, in her opinion.
Maybe she should be more careful. Maybe it will be hard to untangle if she goes too far. That's not what she's concerned with. ]
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Date: 2017-05-17 04:49 am (UTC)In a way, she only wishes she were half as sure as he is, about what he's fighting for, about where he's going. Maybe she wouldn't hurt so much, if she'd ever had a clear idea of it. If she and all her -- mostly dead -- schoolmates hadn't been manipulated into a life of violence and arrogance predicated on the pleasure of one alien bitch who hadn't actually given a shit about them. She tries to be past that, but every responsibility she's given herself has come with the guilty knowledge that she wasn't doing it for the right reasons. That there was something selfish in her desperate bid to be a fucking person, even though she knows how little of her really meets that mark.
Curious, roughened fingertips press on the web of his scar. She recognizes the shape of it. There'd been a girl with electricity at the Academy, more than a few classmates had worn that kind of mark. A faint smirk. She reaches for him, doesn't bother to tell him he's too fucking big, that doesn't match her easy facade of confidence. Everyone she wants is just the right size for her. Her hand is cool on the back of his neck, her mouth inevitably tastes like cigarettes and coffee.
She can feel the reactions to her own touch. Not just the shift of muscle under her hand but the roil of hormone and blood on the other end, turning thoughts warm and liquid. She definitely wants more of that. Starts thinking about how to get it, heat and filth and want washing over him vividly. They need to be a lot sweatier already, in her opinion.
Maybe she should be more careful. Maybe it will be hard to untangle if she goes too far. That's not what she's concerned with. ]
( That's fun. )