[ another sharp breath gets caught in his throat at the mirroring touch. he could so easily just - kiss her and he knows she would respond. but they're still responding to different stimuli, at least as deep as he can figure out, and that scares him. it could prove volatile in the end, inspire jealousy he doesn't want to feel. he has no right to stake his claim over her and no will to do so anyway. frank can't truly belong to her for as surely as he'd die again at her command with zero hesitation. so he can't ask that of her, and would never dream of doing so.
his face tips in even another fraction of an inch, and he feels an electric spark at the first contact of their lips. they haven't since the treehouse, but this is a different scene in a different act - it isn't even colored the same. maybe they aren't even the same people they were then. he speaks lowly against her lips, answering her statement with a question. one he's been dying to know the answer of since he first put the pieces together. ]
When we get back- [ he can't say home. they each have some approximation of that, but trish and david are here. for all intents and purposes, their lives are here, until they aren't. and then somehow they'll be inexplicably in the same universe breathing the same toxic air all over again. he has no way of knowing if each of them will remember this place, or each other. but if they do remember and if they do remember one another, he wants to know if it means anything. he needs to. ] Are we strangers?
[ his breathing is thready, but there's no hint or inclination towards pulling away no matter what her answer is, if she has one. he thinks she's been trying not to think of 'home' as much as he has. maybe it's why he presses more intently into the line of their bodies while he waits for a reply that might not come, his fingers working insistently higher over her abdomen and one leg stubbornly tucked between hers now. ]
no subject
his face tips in even another fraction of an inch, and he feels an electric spark at the first contact of their lips. they haven't since the treehouse, but this is a different scene in a different act - it isn't even colored the same. maybe they aren't even the same people they were then. he speaks lowly against her lips, answering her statement with a question. one he's been dying to know the answer of since he first put the pieces together. ]
When we get back- [ he can't say home. they each have some approximation of that, but trish and david are here. for all intents and purposes, their lives are here, until they aren't. and then somehow they'll be inexplicably in the same universe breathing the same toxic air all over again. he has no way of knowing if each of them will remember this place, or each other. but if they do remember and if they do remember one another, he wants to know if it means anything. he needs to. ] Are we strangers?
[ his breathing is thready, but there's no hint or inclination towards pulling away no matter what her answer is, if she has one. he thinks she's been trying not to think of 'home' as much as he has. maybe it's why he presses more intently into the line of their bodies while he waits for a reply that might not come, his fingers working insistently higher over her abdomen and one leg stubbornly tucked between hers now. ]