[ He's still looking at her intently, hoping that the look in his eyes is enough to tell her that he's still with her, even if he's not answering her with words. Maybe now he's finally come to the point that words aren't needed, just actions. It's strange for him, because he relies on words to communicate, but the time has come for something else. Something different.
His hand is still curled around her breast, fingers alternating between being still and ghosting lightly on the skin there. She moves to kiss him, and he feels the way she stops, seeing her reaction to the pain in her head. He wants to hold her closer, to keep her still, to let her know that she doesn't need to move. The way her hands shake isn't lost on him. But before he can do anything, she's moving again, using his other hand as a guide to see her eased back into a lying down position.
Of course he follows her without even the slightest hesitation. From their new positions on the bed, she's still within easy reach of him, and the hand that guided her down moves to rest against her knee that's also within reach. From there, he allows his fingers to wander up her leg, to her thigh, and then to her hip before coming to a stop.
If she's in too deep, then he's drowning. Again. But it's a different kind of drowning. He's not drowning in despair or horror or hurt. No, he's drowning in feelings of ecstasy and wonder and love, and it's those feelings that drive him to return the kiss with an equal amount of hunger and want and a need to be filled up with that love, and fill her in return. This is a moment he never wants to end; he wants to savor it, to draw it out, to just be them for as much time as they have.
There's no story, no darkness, no terror. Just the two of them kissing, holding each other, and being together. And that's all Alan really needs right now. ]
no subject
His hand is still curled around her breast, fingers alternating between being still and ghosting lightly on the skin there. She moves to kiss him, and he feels the way she stops, seeing her reaction to the pain in her head. He wants to hold her closer, to keep her still, to let her know that she doesn't need to move. The way her hands shake isn't lost on him. But before he can do anything, she's moving again, using his other hand as a guide to see her eased back into a lying down position.
Of course he follows her without even the slightest hesitation. From their new positions on the bed, she's still within easy reach of him, and the hand that guided her down moves to rest against her knee that's also within reach. From there, he allows his fingers to wander up her leg, to her thigh, and then to her hip before coming to a stop.
If she's in too deep, then he's drowning. Again. But it's a different kind of drowning. He's not drowning in despair or horror or hurt. No, he's drowning in feelings of ecstasy and wonder and love, and it's those feelings that drive him to return the kiss with an equal amount of hunger and want and a need to be filled up with that love, and fill her in return. This is a moment he never wants to end; he wants to savor it, to draw it out, to just be them for as much time as they have.
There's no story, no darkness, no terror. Just the two of them kissing, holding each other, and being together. And that's all Alan really needs right now. ]