[ she starts edging up his shirt and he wants to protest -- for so many reasons. but she wants him to stay; he knows, even before she says he doesn't have to. she wants to be wanted, and she wants frank to tell her over and over. is he ready to be that for someone again? when he lost maria he never thought he'd have it, never thought he'd want it. that he'd want her. his fingers halt and he bites into his lips too, studying her face. he used to rely on his guts to tell him when timing was right. but after everything got so fucked up, frank can't trust himself or what he feels. ]
I want to, it's just... [ he wants her to know this conflict has nothing to do with her. this is all a frank castle problem, but it's that same thing that makes him not want to burden her with it at all. every time you come back, you leave a piece of yourself there. maria, angry with him as ever; just wanting to get inside his head for a change. he had never been able to fully let her in, and it's only after that he realizes how selfish that really was. frank swallows past a dry patch in his throat and leans in to kiss clara again, two big fingers pinching her chin. it feels good, and right, but that doesn't mean it is. his tongue sweeps into her mouth to explore properly, not attempting to deter her if she intends to push his shirt up more. if she does she'll reveal a veritable map of scars, some long and shallow from the cut of a knife, some raised and mottled from the pass of a bullet. and others, undefinited, cutting his flesh up into bite-size pieces for consumption. ]
I can't sleep with you. [ it's more decisive, words plain and unshaken as he pulls away this time. for as clear as it is, he knows it still needs clarification lest she take it as another rejection. has he mentioned he's really bad at this? ] I mean, sleep. In the same bed. I have dreams.
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I want to, it's just... [ he wants her to know this conflict has nothing to do with her. this is all a frank castle problem, but it's that same thing that makes him not want to burden her with it at all. every time you come back, you leave a piece of yourself there. maria, angry with him as ever; just wanting to get inside his head for a change. he had never been able to fully let her in, and it's only after that he realizes how selfish that really was. frank swallows past a dry patch in his throat and leans in to kiss clara again, two big fingers pinching her chin. it feels good, and right, but that doesn't mean it is. his tongue sweeps into her mouth to explore properly, not attempting to deter her if she intends to push his shirt up more. if she does she'll reveal a veritable map of scars, some long and shallow from the cut of a knife, some raised and mottled from the pass of a bullet. and others, undefinited, cutting his flesh up into bite-size pieces for consumption. ]
I can't sleep with you. [ it's more decisive, words plain and unshaken as he pulls away this time. for as clear as it is, he knows it still needs clarification lest she take it as another rejection. has he mentioned he's really bad at this? ] I mean, sleep. In the same bed. I have dreams.