[Her heart has either stopped or is pounding so fast she can't distinguish separate beats or she's so flustered that she can't focus on anything other than him, for this moment. She keeps her eyes shut, a little scared to find out just which answer is right, and fights back a shudder at that strange new endearment.
'Bernie' had been what her uncle called her as a child, and it soothed her to use it herself; it made her feel like a piece of him is still with her. Petra picked it up somewhere along the line too, and she's been fine with that. 'Bern' is Dorothea's domain, quick and snappy and sweet, just like her.
'Detta is new ground entirely, especially from a man.]
I-I think... I'm a little less scared? And... a-and it feels...
[Goddess. It sure does feel.]
It feels n-nice.
[So much nicer than the slash of the Blade of the Creator, of the snap of fire, of the chill of bloodloss. So much better than dying alone on splintered and splattered wood, never to be held or consoled or... or being able to hold or console.]
I-I, um. I don't... know if it's usually like this, o-or not. But... it feels nice.
[It feels nice. Stars that seems like a maddening understatement. It feels like home and hope and all the things he doesn't let himself get caught up in any more all at once. Too many feelings but also those feelings each too pure. He can't breathe and he tilts his head slightly, nudging ever so softly against her, breaths shaky and strained.]
I should- [He should go. He should walk away from whatever this was and cut contact with her entirely, let Yuri give her earring back to her and replace all the bricks in the walls he's built around himself. Walls he'd been so stupid to lower, even that little bit when he returned home. Gradually he convinces himself to draw his hand away, letting her hair slip from his fingers, letting the warmth of her fade from his hand.
Gods even that makes his heart hurt, makes him want to reach out and hold her that much tighter and his next breath bursts out in a rush like the loss of contact is a physical blow. His teeth click as he tightens his jaw, clenches his teeth together, a tiny, frightened, fragile little noise catching in his throat.
He can't do it. He can't do this, let someone so close. Even now, already, she could ruin him without even trying. There's so many feelings all wound so suffocatingly tight around his heart that it's difficult to even define them. He doesn't realize at first that he's focusing so hard on trying to work out what is real and what might be something... other, something forced onto him by bond, that he's holding his breath. Fingers curling into a tight fist, tension winding tighter and tighter in him, in the set of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow where it presses against hers.
He should walk away. Right now. He should leave and never look back.
[A thoughtless, disappointed little sound works its way out of her throat as she feels him retreat and the sync fizzle out again, and tentatively she peeks her eyes back open and tilts her head up slightly, properly looking at him again.
He looks, she thinks distantly, like he would very, very much like to be pacing again.
As if magnetic, her own hand is drawn up to hover where his had been, the little hoop heavy against her fingers. The small rings decorating it click together faintly, and she remembers to breathe.
It feels heavier than it actually is. She doesn't know how a gesture meant to give him a sense of power and stability snowballed into an emotionally-charged exchange that leaves both of them flat-footed and uncertain, and she doesn't know if it was a bad thing, either. She's so far in over her head she's not even sure which way is up any more, but she swallows dryly and tries.
She has to try, otherwise she thinks she'll just faint, right here on the street, and that will probably spook him into something even worse than pacing.]
Y-You... should...?
[Her voice is soft, breathless, and somehow impossibly loud, to her ears.]
[She knows what should happen, surely. They're both too paranoid and anxious and distant to continue to endure this... this.
But that sound she makes is more effective than a dagger to the heart. The realization that she is now toying with his earring something sharp and hot in his gut, wonderful and terrible all at once. It's enough to startle him into breathing again, one ragged desperate breath that seems to finally be enough to release him from that horrible prison of indecision. Except instead of turning away from her, walking away, hells running away if that's what was needed... he does precisely the opposite.
His hand comes up in a rush, cradling her face once more, fingers stumbling against hers, awkward and uncoordinated. He tilts his head down, shifting that point of contact from their foreheads gently touching to instead crash his lips against hers. Too hard, too sudden but he corrects himself quickly, eases the pressure and lingers there, lips on hers, heart hammering in his chest so hard his head spins and the shock of the sync spiking once more almost enough to make him stagger against her.]
[A handsome, dangerous, suspicious man she only just really met today is kissing her.
He's kissing her.
He's kissing her.
Her mind goes blank, washed clean by the sudden surge of energy between them, by the almost bruising initiation, by the heat of his mouth as she gasps against it, soundless and stunned. She has never, ever been kissed and even in her wildest novel-fueled dreams, she never imagined it happening like this. Her other hand moves from her chest to his, fisted in his coat, and her knees are weak and she... she doesn't know what to do, exactly, or what she is doing, but somehow she thinks she's... kissing him back.
She's certainly not pushing him away or pulling back or slapping him, the way she occasionally saw that Blue Lion boy's would-be paramours do as she skulked through mostly-secluded hallways on occasion, at least.
This is so, so many steps further than a hug. She should stop this. Stop him. Surely there's no way he'd ever want to do this with her in his right mind, after all.
...
Sh-she's not stopping him. Why isn't she stopping him...?]
[He'd, honestly, written off any considerations of romance a long long time ago. He had work to do, goals and dreams to strive towards. Besides that he was an outsider, the idea of forcing someone to tie themselves to him was absurd. If, somehow, he survived long enough to take the throne, to do some good, he'd just appoint one of his nieces or nephews as successor, let his brothers bicker over who deserved the throne after him, whatever happened it wouldn't have anything to do with him or his line or romance of any sort.
His dreams and ambitions had always been enough so this... was a first for them both. The rush of power sudden and intense, the softness of her lips impossibly enticing even if he had no idea what to do beyond pressing closer to her. His free hand touches her side ever so lightly, the faintest encouragement to close the distance, to let her pull him in...
And it's as if the warmth of her under both of his hands is too much of a shock, an overload that sends him staggering back with a gasp of his own, hands raised helpless and uncertain, jade eyes wide with shock. Shock that spirals into panic the moment the contact is broken even if the bond is still there, still buzzing in the back of his mind like a bolting. His hand comes up, touching his own lips, slow and wondering and confused before clamping over his mouth with a startled little squeak.]
I-I... Det- [Oh gods, he shouldn't call her that, she didn't agree to let him call her that. She didn't agree to any of this. He stumbles back one shaky step, looking for all the world like a hare about to bolt.]
[She's never thought she'd interest anybody; if she ever had that sort of hope, her father had crushed it thoroughly, early on. If any duke ever gave her the time of day, she assumed it would be a radically older, desperate one, who was in some backroom agreement with the Count.
Here, with the type of handsome young man who would sooner put an arrow in her father's throat than give him the time of day?
Inconceivable.]
I. Um.
[When he pulls back, her knees immediately give out. His jacket slips through her fingers and she lands, sitting stunned on the ground.
Still staring up at him, and steadily growing redder and redder as her brain scrambles to catch up with... current event. Her own hand rises to her mouth, unconsciously mirroring him.]
[There's a strange little aborted movement, like he wants to go to her, help her to her feet, steady her but now after that he's terrified to touch her again. Gods what the hell had happened here?
His jacket is all askew and he can't help her up but he can... Instead of righting his jacket he shrugs out of it, crouching down in front of her. His face is not as red as hers but that's only because the flush shows up so much brighter on her porcelain complexion. (Porcelain? Stars, he sounds like Lorenz.) A moment of looking at her, still disbelieving and shocked. Then he swings his jacket around to drape it over her shoulders, still warm from his body and a warm, spicy musk clinging to it like sunshine and sandalwood.]
I'm sorry. [Cautious words he's well aware won't make up for whatever the hells he's just done here but it's all he can get out, the great leader stunned into near silence. Then he pushes to his feet, backs away from her for a few steps before turning on his heel and bolting down the street, the convenient power of his gembond making sure he's out of sight in but a moment.]
[It feels like the next few seconds bunch and jump, like pages stuck together and then speeding ahead in the story. One moment he's there, he's... taking his jacket off...?!]
I-I...!
[And then he's apologizing, and then he's gone.
And she's still here, swathed in a man's jacket—the jacket of the man who just kissed her—the chill of the pavement slowly seeping into her legs.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 06:09 pm (UTC)'Bernie' had been what her uncle called her as a child, and it soothed her to use it herself; it made her feel like a piece of him is still with her. Petra picked it up somewhere along the line too, and she's been fine with that. 'Bern' is Dorothea's domain, quick and snappy and sweet, just like her.
'Detta is new ground entirely, especially from a man.]
I-I think... I'm a little less scared? And... a-and it feels...
[Goddess. It sure does feel.]
It feels n-nice.
[So much nicer than the slash of the Blade of the Creator, of the snap of fire, of the chill of bloodloss. So much better than dying alone on splintered and splattered wood, never to be held or consoled or... or being able to hold or console.]
I-I, um. I don't... know if it's usually like this, o-or not. But... it feels nice.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 08:27 pm (UTC)I should- [He should go. He should walk away from whatever this was and cut contact with her entirely, let Yuri give her earring back to her and replace all the bricks in the walls he's built around himself. Walls he'd been so stupid to lower, even that little bit when he returned home. Gradually he convinces himself to draw his hand away, letting her hair slip from his fingers, letting the warmth of her fade from his hand.
Gods even that makes his heart hurt, makes him want to reach out and hold her that much tighter and his next breath bursts out in a rush like the loss of contact is a physical blow. His teeth click as he tightens his jaw, clenches his teeth together, a tiny, frightened, fragile little noise catching in his throat.
He can't do it. He can't do this, let someone so close. Even now, already, she could ruin him without even trying. There's so many feelings all wound so suffocatingly tight around his heart that it's difficult to even define them. He doesn't realize at first that he's focusing so hard on trying to work out what is real and what might be something... other, something forced onto him by bond, that he's holding his breath. Fingers curling into a tight fist, tension winding tighter and tighter in him, in the set of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow where it presses against hers.
He should walk away. Right now. He should leave and never look back.
So why couldn't he make himself move.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 08:37 pm (UTC)He looks, she thinks distantly, like he would very, very much like to be pacing again.
As if magnetic, her own hand is drawn up to hover where his had been, the little hoop heavy against her fingers. The small rings decorating it click together faintly, and she remembers to breathe.
It feels heavier than it actually is. She doesn't know how a gesture meant to give him a sense of power and stability snowballed into an emotionally-charged exchange that leaves both of them flat-footed and uncertain, and she doesn't know if it was a bad thing, either. She's so far in over her head she's not even sure which way is up any more, but she swallows dryly and tries.
She has to try, otherwise she thinks she'll just faint, right here on the street, and that will probably spook him into something even worse than pacing.]
Y-You... should...?
[Her voice is soft, breathless, and somehow impossibly loud, to her ears.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 08:54 pm (UTC)But that sound she makes is more effective than a dagger to the heart. The realization that she is now toying with his earring something sharp and hot in his gut, wonderful and terrible all at once. It's enough to startle him into breathing again, one ragged desperate breath that seems to finally be enough to release him from that horrible prison of indecision. Except instead of turning away from her, walking away, hells running away if that's what was needed... he does precisely the opposite.
His hand comes up in a rush, cradling her face once more, fingers stumbling against hers, awkward and uncoordinated. He tilts his head down, shifting that point of contact from their foreheads gently touching to instead crash his lips against hers. Too hard, too sudden but he corrects himself quickly, eases the pressure and lingers there, lips on hers, heart hammering in his chest so hard his head spins and the shock of the sync spiking once more almost enough to make him stagger against her.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 09:05 pm (UTC)He's kissing her.
He's kissing her.
Her mind goes blank, washed clean by the sudden surge of energy between them, by the almost bruising initiation, by the heat of his mouth as she gasps against it, soundless and stunned. She has never, ever been kissed and even in her wildest novel-fueled dreams, she never imagined it happening like this. Her other hand moves from her chest to his, fisted in his coat, and her knees are weak and she... she doesn't know what to do, exactly, or what she is doing, but somehow she thinks she's... kissing him back.
She's certainly not pushing him away or pulling back or slapping him, the way she occasionally saw that Blue Lion boy's would-be paramours do as she skulked through mostly-secluded hallways on occasion, at least.
This is so, so many steps further than a hug. She should stop this. Stop him. Surely there's no way he'd ever want to do this with her in his right mind, after all.
...
Sh-she's not stopping him. Why isn't she stopping him...?]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 09:33 pm (UTC)His dreams and ambitions had always been enough so this... was a first for them both. The rush of power sudden and intense, the softness of her lips impossibly enticing even if he had no idea what to do beyond pressing closer to her. His free hand touches her side ever so lightly, the faintest encouragement to close the distance, to let her pull him in...
And it's as if the warmth of her under both of his hands is too much of a shock, an overload that sends him staggering back with a gasp of his own, hands raised helpless and uncertain, jade eyes wide with shock. Shock that spirals into panic the moment the contact is broken even if the bond is still there, still buzzing in the back of his mind like a bolting. His hand comes up, touching his own lips, slow and wondering and confused before clamping over his mouth with a startled little squeak.]
I-I... Det- [Oh gods, he shouldn't call her that, she didn't agree to let him call her that. She didn't agree to any of this. He stumbles back one shaky step, looking for all the world like a hare about to bolt.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 09:42 pm (UTC)Here, with the type of handsome young man who would sooner put an arrow in her father's throat than give him the time of day?
Inconceivable.]
I. Um.
[When he pulls back, her knees immediately give out. His jacket slips through her fingers and she lands, sitting stunned on the ground.
Still staring up at him, and steadily growing redder and redder as her brain scrambles to catch up with... current event. Her own hand rises to her mouth, unconsciously mirroring him.]
C-Cl... Claude...?
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 10:01 pm (UTC)His jacket is all askew and he can't help her up but he can... Instead of righting his jacket he shrugs out of it, crouching down in front of her. His face is not as red as hers but that's only because the flush shows up so much brighter on her porcelain complexion. (Porcelain? Stars, he sounds like Lorenz.) A moment of looking at her, still disbelieving and shocked. Then he swings his jacket around to drape it over her shoulders, still warm from his body and a warm, spicy musk clinging to it like sunshine and sandalwood.]
I'm sorry. [Cautious words he's well aware won't make up for whatever the hells he's just done here but it's all he can get out, the great leader stunned into near silence. Then he pushes to his feet, backs away from her for a few steps before turning on his heel and bolting down the street, the convenient power of his gembond making sure he's out of sight in but a moment.]
no subject
Date: 2021-02-07 10:07 pm (UTC)I-I...!
[And then he's apologizing, and then he's gone.
And she's still here, swathed in a man's jacket—the jacket of the man who just kissed her—the chill of the pavement slowly seeping into her legs.]
...I don't... u-understand...