[M] - I was prepared to take it all

Itachi Lykoi · 01-04-2011, 10:31 AM

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<3 sswm 437

He was aware of every tiny, irrelevant move she made, felt the gentle, rhythmic breaths she took offer him invisible chills that made his spine tingle so sweetly. He held on to that occurrence, revelling at the strangeness of the growing body that he had thought he was becoming familiar with. The petite thing was surely aware of the intensity brought to her by that intrigued gaze draped with intensity, but her gaze had fled from his and found another place to linger. The lack of moisture within his mouth was long forgotten, if it had ever been noticed as she played her cruel games, laughed and smiled. His gaze trailed hers, finding the door. This brought displeasure to his locked mind, for he found that he did not wish for her to leave. It was bizarre as the boy was not comfortable with her strange ways, but he knew he craved something all the same. He was willing to explore this further, but he needed help.

Her words came to him, and left him, as usual, slightly bewildered. If they meant nothing then why had they been spoken in the first place? He caught the cunning glance of hers, but could not interpret it for what it was. It kept frustrating him, this inability to understand what he supposed should be obvious for a keener gaze laced with more experience than he possessed. Clawed fingers sought together on top of his knees, fiddling slightly without realizing that this was an obvious sign of his perplexity. His eyes had fallen away from her now, watching the door though all attention remained on her and the strange signals she emitted. The doll’s next words brought it back, naturally, as she revealed a previous lie. She remained cold, and the boy thought that he had somehow failed at granting her shelter from the cool temperatures of the fresh year.

He turned to peer at her, wondering what else he could offer her. She had told him that he could touch her without having to witness her shatter and be revealed as the content of a mere dream. Slowly, or so it seemed to him, he stretched out a pale hand to brush against her ankle, moving it back and forth to inspire warmth to bloom between her smooth, blushing leg and his controlled palm. He did not feel controlled though, but would accept that there would not be any of that as long as she remained near. The move was sort of clumsy and even lame if it was ever put in perspective, but he tried—he tried.

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