desmondellis

[desmondellis]

Somehow their uneven breaths synced between lustful sighs and groans and whines of impatience, eager for grasp at whatever flesh connected the two. Her body met him with equal eagerness, fingers tracing along the curves of his skin and hardened muscle as he discovered hers. Soft and warm flesh under his calloused hands, his mouth watered for not a moment longer than the thought had to cross his mind before he took her breast into his mouth with a pleased grunt as he moaned into her skin. The craving met by instantaneous satisfaction sent the blood to hold groin, almost painful. How badly he wanted to cross the threshold of what now stood between them, how long he’d went without it, how much he needed something he never knew he’d even missed.

As his mouth bit and sucked at one breast, each time the saliva slipped her from his lips he quickly returned, meeting the other breast in his mouth like a starving man. He felt mad, beyond comprehension, no longer deep in thought about what she was thinking nor the lack of hyper vigilance that normally ruled his like of action. His tongue and teeth left her breast only to slick his tongue between them, grasping at each as he slid up her chest and to her neck, sucking and biting at the skin. He relished her scent with no care to how she might notice, hands meeting again at her waist to control her movements beneath him.

The friction between them only made him harder, cum leaking from and just over the tip as she ground against him. Moaning into her neck did nothing to relieve his urges, instead drawing him closer to something that wasn’t quite anger, but primal and forceful in its nature. He took the soft hand that was once caressing his jaw and placed it between them, so she could feel how hard she was making him and how deeply out of control he was for her. Had he more sense and willpower he might share how rare an occasion this was that he might withdraw control and lend it to her so freely, but he couldn’t muster the strength.

All that he could do was share himself between flesh, open and honest with her in a way he hadn’t been in so long. Long, intent kisses laid upon her neck, nose rubbing against it whenever he couldn’t breath only to fill the air with whatever was coming off her skin. A soft but firm hand held her jaw in place as his lips traveled up her ear and to her cheek, mouth passionate as if in opposition to what he felt below his waist, savoring each square inch of her as if he’d never tasted something sweeter.

There was a natural instinct that he’d let himself forget, falling into the motion so seamlessly as if the last time was just yesterday. Led by his body and its wants and needs, he didn’t stop to pose the question of if what he was doing was right or even smart. Contrary to his behavior the entire night prior, half aware of the consequence and fully engaged in the moment, he couldn’t find the strength to pull away.

Her tongue was wet and willing, just as eager to slide against his own as they opened their mouths in bated breaths. He loved the way she opened up to him, the way her body moved in tandem with his own movements, driven by the lust of their bodies and desires uninhibited by common sense and courtesies. It felt even better not to think, to let his body decide what it wanted as it gripped her skin with a gradual need. He loved every little noise she made, the tiny moans as they kissed. He could feel himself getting harder, coupled by what he’d already been given this morning it almost started to feel painful, in a good way, like he desired the friction of her movement in a way he could only compared to desperation.

His hand stayed in place, encouraging her forcefully to continue the motion. If his eyes hadn’t been closed already they would have rolled back into his skull, moaning as he felt her hips meet his agreeably. How it could be possible that she was even hotter was unthinkable, the only driving thought drilling in his brain was how badly he wanted to be inside her, consumed by the heat from within her body, deep in her folds, her sweet voice in the crook of his ear. “Right there.” He groaned between their open mouths, hungry as their lips met and tongues fought against one another. He pressed his forehead to her own for only a moment, jaw clenching as he rocked her against his cock, sucking in a small hiss. “Just like that.” He whispered softly, though his hands were anything but.

Both hands slipped up the sides of her legs, waist and hip, one hand holding her in place while the other slipped under her shirt, taking hold of her breast and kneading at it. Two fingers played with her nipple, pinching and teasing, going between cupping her whole and playing with her as it grew harder between her fingers. “You like that?” He asked, a growing curiosity as she continued her movements, looking at up her with half open eyes, his other hand moving to cup the other breast with just as much eagerness as the first, revelling in the soft flesh beneath his fingers.

[desmondellis]

There was a natural instinct that he’d let himself forget, falling into the motion so seamlessly as if the last time was just yesterday. Led by his body and its wants and needs, he didn’t stop to pose the question of if what he was doing was right or even smart. Contrary to his behavior the entire night prior, half aware of the consequence and fully engaged in the moment, he couldn’t find the strength to pull away.

Her tongue was wet and willing, just as eager to slide against his own as they opened their mouths in bated breaths. He loved the way she opened up to him, the way her body moved in tandem with his own movements, driven by the lust of their bodies and desires uninhibited by common sense and courtesies. It felt even better not to think, to let his body decide what it wanted as it gripped her skin with a gradual need. He loved every little noise she made, the tiny moans as they kissed. He could feel himself getting harder, coupled by what he’d already been given this morning it almost started to feel painful, in a good way, like he desired the friction of her movement in a way he could only compared to desperation.

His hand stayed in place, encouraging her forcefully to continue the motion. If his eyes hadn’t been closed already they would have rolled back into his skull, moaning as he felt her hips meet his agreeably. How it could be possible that she was even hotter was unthinkable, the only driving thought drilling in his brain was how badly he wanted to be inside her, consumed by the heat from within her body, deep in her folds, her sweet voice in the crook of his ear. “Right there.” He groaned between their open mouths, hungry as their lips met and tongues fought against one another. He pressed his forehead to her own for only a moment, jaw clenching as he rocked her against his cock, sucking in a small hiss. “Just like that.” He whispered softly, though his hands were anything but.

Both hands slipped up the sides of her legs, waist and hip, one hand holding her in place while the other slipped under her shirt, taking hold of her breast and kneading at it. Two fingers played with her nipple, pinching and teasing, going between cupping her whole and playing with her as it grew harder between her fingers. “You like that?” He asked, a growing curiosity as she continued her movements, looking at up her with half open eyes, his other hand moving to cup the other breast with just as much eagerness as the first, revelling in the soft flesh beneath his fingers.

Falling asleep and staying asleep were two fears that Desmond never imagined he would accomplish in the remaining years of his lifetime. He knew no such lingering peace as he did in the hours he spent sleeping with her, sharing the bed with what seemed like a human heating lamp. It worked in his favor, keeping him at just the temperature not to stir him from his annoying habit of waking up every so often and becoming quickly alert, a habit he hadn’t noticed up until her felt her stir against him in her bed.

It was a subtle action, one he tried not to call attention to as it would have warranted an alarmed response had he taken any more time to come to. The soft skin of her leg was lazily drawn along his waist, hand now moved away from his neck to somewhere along the fitted sheet below them. It didn’t matter because some inch of skin just had to be against his, a quirk he was learning was very significant to her overall character. The feeling of a soft stirring, of being woken up kindly and to something warm and gentle was so foreign to Desmond that he could only wake up in a gradual and soft manner. It was like waking up to find yourself in another dream, the scent rolling off her body that brought the memories to his mind at once with a revered delight.

As much as she made it a constant point to touch skin, she moved ever so slightly against the very thing he’d forgotten to acknowledge, as he spent every evening and following mornings alone. Reduced to a human response, Des groaned a sleepy and muffled grunt, letting her know right away that not only he felt it but surely she could too. He thought of the sound she’d made as she brushed him, a soft sigh joining the air and flooding him with wonder. He was half present, half aware of how alert he should be but how dazed and relaxed he was at his full nights rest and waking up to her, who he would have fought to distance himself against had he’d been any less consumed by this state of being.

The anxiety had been drained from his body, as if the years of tight control had been released and given him the opportunity to bask in true comfort, a feeling that he lost when she moved her body carefully from his. Without question, his hand moved slack over the bone at her ankle, sliding up her calf and pulling it back to him as it had been before. Once it resumed its place at his waist, his fingers travelled upwards, the fabric of her shirt catching loosely at his thumb before it met her elbow. His eyes opened slowly then, coming to as the sun showed itself in the corner of the room and ruining any chance of returning to his peaceful dreaming.

Desmond wasn’t all there, still someplace between a heavy rest and being awoken so pleasantly that he never to stop to ask himself the question. Only driven by the action and how deep he felt her absence, he watched the way her breath was going up and out of her mouth, almost unnatural in its manner. He slid over the skin of her wrist then arm, rising until he was at the edge of her ears, thumb grazing her there until he felt satisfied in her gaze. She was so uniquely positioned there, watching him without words, no inclination to her mood except maybe curiosity.

He thought he might be looking at an angel, who just hours ago he’d seen slip into deep slumber now hazily focused on such an innocent touch. It drove something in him, something long dormant. Whatever part of him that would have resisted was lost on him now, and his hand slipped behind her neck before he leaned in to press his lips against hers, a soft groan against her mouth as she’d been the first to conjure up the desire in so long. Slow and gentle at first, and when they both returned for another he opened his mouth to hers, tongue sliding over her own to indulge in the taste.

His hand abandoned the back of her neck in sights for her waist, which he pulled to press her close, no space between them to rid her of why she’d moved in the first place. Calloused fingers grasped below her thighs, hiking her leg up to where he could nuzzle into her, a hot breath in her mouth when he could feel the warmth between her legs much hotter than the rest of her already sizzling body.

[desmondellis]

Falling asleep and staying asleep were two fears that Desmond never imagined he would accomplish in the remaining years of his lifetime. He knew no such lingering peace as he did in the hours he spent sleeping with her, sharing the bed with what seemed like a human heating lamp. It worked in his favor, keeping him at just the temperature not to stir him from his annoying habit of waking up every so often and becoming quickly alert, a habit he hadn’t noticed up until her felt her stir against him in her bed.

It was a subtle action, one he tried not to call attention to as it would have warranted an alarmed response had he taken any more time to come to. The soft skin of her leg was lazily drawn along his waist, hand now moved away from his neck to somewhere along the fitted sheet below them. It didn’t matter because some inch of skin just had to be against his, a quirk he was learning was very significant to her overall character. The feeling of a soft stirring, of being woken up kindly and to something warm and gentle was so foreign to Desmond that he could only wake up in a gradual and soft manner. It was like waking up to find yourself in another dream, the scent rolling off her body that brought the memories to his mind at once with a revered delight.

As much as she made it a constant point to touch skin, she moved ever so slightly against the very thing he’d forgotten to acknowledge, as he spent every evening and following mornings alone. Reduced to a human response, Des groaned a sleepy and muffled grunt, letting her know right away that not only he felt it but surely she could too. He thought of the sound she’d made as she brushed him, a soft sigh joining the air and flooding him with wonder. He was half present, half aware of how alert he should be but how dazed and relaxed he was at his full nights rest and waking up to her, who he would have fought to distance himself against had he’d been any less consumed by this state of being.

The anxiety had been drained from his body, as if the years of tight control had been released and given him the opportunity to bask in true comfort, a feeling that he lost when she moved her body carefully from his. Without question, his hand moved slack over the bone at her ankle, sliding up her calf and pulling it back to him as it had been before. Once it resumed its place at his waist, his fingers travelled upwards, the fabric of her shirt catching loosely at his thumb before it met her elbow. His eyes opened slowly then, coming to as the sun showed itself in the corner of the room and ruining any chance of returning to his peaceful dreaming.

Desmond wasn’t all there, still someplace between a heavy rest and being awoken so pleasantly that he never to stop to ask himself the question. Only driven by the action and how deep he felt her absence, he watched the way her breath was going up and out of her mouth, almost unnatural in its manner. He slid over the skin of her wrist then arm, rising until he was at the edge of her ears, thumb grazing her there until he felt satisfied in her gaze. She was so uniquely positioned there, watching him without words, no inclination to her mood except maybe curiosity.

He thought he might be looking at an angel, who just hours ago he’d seen slip into deep slumber now hazily focused on such an innocent touch. It drove something in him, something long dormant. Whatever part of him that would have resisted was lost on him now, and his hand slipped behind her neck before he leaned in to press his lips against hers, a soft groan against her mouth as she’d been the first to conjure up the desire in so long. Slow and gentle at first, and when they both returned for another he opened his mouth to hers, tongue sliding over her own to indulge in the taste.

His hand abandoned the back of her neck in sights for her waist, which he pulled to press her close, no space between them to rid her of why she’d moved in the first place. Calloused fingers grasped below her thighs, hiking her leg up to where he could nuzzle into her, a hot breath in her mouth when he could feel the warmth between her legs much hotter than the rest of her already sizzling body.

There was an even deeper form of intimacy that she was asking of him now. Even alone it was difficult, made even worse so knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping out of necessity but comfort. It seemed so natural for everyone else. With that came a new uneasiness in the truth, for what reason could he now conjure up that would explain why he so adamantly opposed the idea altogether. Nightmares no longer plagued him. Death had become palatable, inevitable, eventual. Desmond had made a point to level it with every part of his mind under the expectation that it could happen it any time.

But sleeping beside her and surrendering himself to that comfort that was so intuitive to her nature was as unlike him as just about everything else this night. It meant succumbing to the idea that they were safe when he knew that wasn’t so, but further than that, accepting that she would be safe. Whenever he felt strong enough to take the truth to the face he came to the realization that every act of resistance was done for her, and ultimately for the preservation of her life, even if right now it didn’t seem as dire. The thought ruminated in his mind as he watched her jolt up and dip into the kitchen for something else he didn’t need, sighing to himself as he stewed in his defeat.

When she returned she happily jumped into bed with a distinct comfort that Desmond couldn’t find envy for, only more worry. Her smile soothed him like her cover of a blanket, the warmth in her body radiating and joining him between the sheets. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about on that matter considering you’ve just showered.” He scoffed, even though just moments prior he’d been doing the rounds in his head. Lighthearted, Jazz reminded him again that he was safe and it almost certainly cemented the idea that he wasn’t, but coming off her lips he almost believed it. No stranger to the ignorance of strangers and boundaries, she slipped her fingers through his drying curls and her hand fell wistfully to his cheek.

He could only reference the attempts of affection from others as a measure of his own interest now, and how swiftly they met their rejection. It was almost intuitive, like a wall being set in stone. Women had tried before, even so much as being as forward with touch. The most peculiar difference was the intention behind it and how innocent it felt, like the naivety never left her soul. It filled him with the comfort she was so desperate for him to achieve and so he appeased her. He let her watch as he closed his eyes and kept them shut, listening intently to the lengths of her breaths, the pulse in her hand, a tell-tale sign when she had finally fallen asleep being in the weight of her arm as it slunk down.

Desmond watched her then, this peaceful angel as she slept. Her nose whistled just so and sometimes her eyes would dart around under her lid, and every so often her toes would wiggle. It went on for some time until he felt their breathing sync, knowing his body would tire from its own exhaustion eventually, and he relented, leaving her hand where it fell at his neck.

[desmondellis]

There was an even deeper form of intimacy that she was asking of him now. Even alone it was difficult, made even worse so knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping out of necessity but comfort. It seemed so natural for everyone else. With that came a new uneasiness in the truth, for what reason could he now conjure up that would explain why he so adamantly opposed the idea altogether. Nightmares no longer plagued him. Death had become palatable, inevitable, eventual. Desmond had made a point to level it with every part of his mind under the expectation that it could happen it any time.

But sleeping beside her and surrendering himself to that comfort that was so intuitive to her nature was as unlike him as just about everything else this night. It meant succumbing to the idea that they were safe when he knew that wasn’t so, but further than that, accepting that she would be safe. Whenever he felt strong enough to take the truth to the face he came to the realization that every act of resistance was done for her, and ultimately for the preservation of her life, even if right now it didn’t seem as dire. The thought ruminated in his mind as he watched her jolt up and dip into the kitchen for something else he didn’t need, sighing to himself as he stewed in his defeat.

When she returned she happily jumped into bed with a distinct comfort that Desmond couldn’t find envy for, only more worry. Her smile soothed him like her cover of a blanket, the warmth in her body radiating and joining him between the sheets. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about on that matter considering you’ve just showered.” He scoffed, even though just moments prior he’d been doing the rounds in his head. Lighthearted, Jazz reminded him again that he was safe and it almost certainly cemented the idea that he wasn’t, but coming off her lips he almost believed it. No stranger to the ignorance of strangers and boundaries, she slipped her fingers through his drying curls and her hand fell wistfully to his cheek.

He could only reference the attempts of affection from others as a measure of his own interest now, and how swiftly they met their rejection. It was almost intuitive, like a wall being set in stone. Women had tried before, even so much as being as forward with touch. The most peculiar difference was the intention behind it and how innocent it felt, like the naivety never left her soul. It filled him with the comfort she was so desperate for him to achieve and so he appeased her. He let her watch as he closed his eyes and kept them shut, listening intently to the lengths of her breaths, the pulse in her hand, a tell-tale sign when she had finally fallen asleep being in the weight of her arm as it slunk down.

Desmond watched her then, this peaceful angel as she slept. Her nose whistled just so and sometimes her eyes would dart around under her lid, and every so often her toes would wiggle. It went on for some time until he felt their breathing sync, knowing his body would tire from its own exhaustion eventually, and he relented, leaving her hand where it fell at his neck.

“Oh really?” He chimed in, happy to divert her attention away from the current subject. “Should’ve let me find out for myself.” The reprieve was short lived, as it was becoming clear that she was almost as stubborn as him. Even with what he felt as a grand, extroverted gesture by touching her hand it did not appear to sway her. Desmond was patient with her, not changing the tone of his voice to detect any anger in fact, he was hardly bothered at all.

The night couldn’t have passed any quicker, which had become a point of contention and thing of irony. The passing of time seemed like it had stretched itself thin and moved through with calculated speed - slower, more intentional, and somehow rosy around the edges when it happened. She would smile, eyes in tandem with her lips as joy spread over her face and into his chest, and the seconds multiplied. It was the very thing that kept him from leaving, from denying all the favors and good will, for taking advantage of her kindness by not being his genuine self.

Desmond knew coldness in someone’s eyes as much as he knew innocence, and there wasn’t many eyes like hers he’d ever seen before. Had it been his own recruit, he would have turned them away for being too soft for the world. Jazzmyn was. No matter that she may be stronger than most and uniquely independent, the dangers of the world were without her knowledge, and all th death and pain of the world had not yet touched her eyes. Unknowingly, he’d already started to create a bubble around her, curating an image and idea of a world where he was just a regular person, lying for the sake of an impression.

He watched the movement of her hands as she extended each finger, upset with himself that he might have offended her. “If it makes you feel any better I’ve felt worse and would’ve gladly taken a couch.” He wagered with himself that it couldn’t possibly be the case, given how touchy she’d been the entire time, but the doubt still lingered though small. Another swift disregard for his compromise, instead of resolving to let him win she insisted on joining him, which shot his earlier convictions in the foot and created an entire leg of another problem. His eyebrows knitted together, and she gave him no time to change her mind before she moved to the bathroom.

Desmond had time to contemplate his next move. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for him to leave now. At the very least he wouldn’t be around to see her face when she found out he’d rather brave the storm than sleep with her in the same bed. Desmond knew he wouldn’t make it far enough, and would have to brave the failed journey and her face when he returned again.

His hands got clammy, especially when the clouds of steam pooled onto the floor and filled the room with the sweet scent of whatever combination she used in the shower. “No.” He choked on what he wanted to say for a simple no. “There’s plenty of room for me on the floor, so it’s..” he laughed nervously, trying not to get hung up on the soft noises she made. “You know we could sleep like lincoln logs. Head to toe, so you feel more comfortable. It’s.. we probably shouldn’t even cause we might not fit, I can just, I can go on the floor.”

[desmondellis]

“Oh really?” He chimed in, happy to divert her attention away from the current subject. “Should’ve let me find out for myself.” The reprieve was short lived, as it was becoming clear that she was almost as stubborn as him. Even with what he felt as a grand, extroverted gesture by touching her hand it did not appear to sway her. Desmond was patient with her, not changing the tone of his voice to detect any anger in fact, he was hardly bothered at all.

The night couldn’t have passed any quicker, which had become a point of contention and thing of irony. The passing of time seemed like it had stretched itself thin and moved through with calculated speed - slower, more intentional, and somehow rosy around the edges when it happened. She would smile, eyes in tandem with her lips as joy spread over her face and into his chest, and the seconds multiplied. It was the very thing that kept him from leaving, from denying all the favors and good will, for taking advantage of her kindness by not being his genuine self.

Desmond knew coldness in someone’s eyes as much as he knew innocence, and there wasn’t many eyes like hers he’d ever seen before. Had it been his own recruit, he would have turned them away for being too soft for the world. Jazzmyn was. No matter that she may be stronger than most and uniquely independent, the dangers of the world were without her knowledge, and all th death and pain of the world had not yet touched her eyes. Unknowingly, he’d already started to create a bubble around her, curating an image and idea of a world where he was just a regular person, lying for the sake of an impression.

He watched the movement of her hands as she extended each finger, upset with himself that he might have offended her. “If it makes you feel any better I’ve felt worse and would’ve gladly taken a couch.” He wagered with himself that it couldn’t possibly be the case, given how touchy she’d been the entire time, but the doubt still lingered though small. Another swift disregard for his compromise, instead of resolving to let him win she insisted on joining him, which shot his earlier convictions in the foot and created an entire leg of another problem. His eyebrows knitted together, and she gave him no time to change her mind before she moved to the bathroom.

Desmond had time to contemplate his next move. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for him to leave now. At the very least he wouldn’t be around to see her face when she found out he’d rather brave the storm than sleep with her in the same bed. Desmond knew he wouldn’t make it far enough, and would have to brave the failed journey and her face when he returned again.

His hands got clammy, especially when the clouds of steam pooled onto the floor and filled the room with the sweet scent of whatever combination she used in the shower. “No.” He choked on what he wanted to say for a simple no. “There’s plenty of room for me on the floor, so it’s..” he laughed nervously, trying not to get hung up on the soft noises she made. “You know we could sleep like lincoln logs. Head to toe, so you feel more comfortable. It’s.. we probably shouldn’t even cause we might not fit, I can just, I can go on the floor.”

Jazzmyn seemed to be less concentrated on her mission as his words met closed ears. There was an unwavering delight in his objections - for what reason he could not understand. Up until this point, Desmond had made a significant effort to be polite and accommodating to the best of his ability. Her small hands pushed against him and made him want to laugh. Not only was he amused, but aware of just how freely he allowed her to touch him. Unaware of it up until this very point, he realized just how simple and subtle actions created an immediate need for hyper vigilance in his body as a response.

Even if he was refusing her help, he still felt an overwhelming sense of calm. As if his body were pooling into the sensors around him, the warm air and soft furniture, the sound of her voice and the free range of her hands somehow soothed him. It made him sluggish and unmotivated. He didn’t want to move. He wished, in some form, that she could stay and talk to him all night. The thought of leaving only dwelled above his head like a heavy cloud, and he was beginning to feel his seconds slip away faster.

“I can see that.” He smiled under a stern tone. “Considering the alternative would have been the bottom of the ocean floor, I’d say a couch is more than sufficient.” He tried to reason with her, despite how lightly she was taking his answer this time. It didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere at all and even worse, he wasn’t even really behaving with any measure of discipline. Her smile weighed heavy on his chest, like he was safe keeping the memory for the future. He’d never been looked at like this before, with such a tenderness it softened his resolve with little effort.

He didn’t want to argue, especially not when either of them could hold together a straight face. He even smiled as he spoke, feeling his argument dampen with his inability to reiterate his point. “To me it is.” He responded swiftly, taking the hand that pushed him to place a hand over her own like he was extending gratitude. “That person is going to be me.” He searched her glazed eyes and they were bright and sparkling as he watched. Wrinkles formed at the edge of her eyes, nose pinching when something especially tickled her. It was so hard to say no.

“I’m not letting up.“ He promised. “But I am willing to compromise with you on this, it’s the least I can do.” He sighed and shook his head, smile trickling at the edges of his mouth. “Do you want to stack blankets on the floor, you can sleep next to me on your bed, where let me remind you, you will be regardless of wherever I will sleep.” He patted her hand and pulled it away, feeling the absence of its warmth almost instantly.

[desmondellis]

Jazzmyn seemed to be less concentrated on her mission as his words met closed ears. There was an unwavering delight in his objections - for what reason he could not understand. Up until this point, Desmond had made a significant effort to be polite and accommodating to the best of his ability. Her small hands pushed against him and made him want to laugh. Not only was he amused, but aware of just how freely he allowed her to touch him. Unaware of it up until this very point, he realized just how simple and subtle actions created an immediate need for hyper vigilance in his body as a response.

Even if he was refusing her help, he still felt an overwhelming sense of calm. As if his body were pooling into the sensors around him, the warm air and soft furniture, the sound of her voice and the free range of her hands somehow soothed him. It made him sluggish and unmotivated. He didn’t want to move. He wished, in some form, that she could stay and talk to him all night. The thought of leaving only dwelled above his head like a heavy cloud, and he was beginning to feel his seconds slip away faster.

“I can see that.” He smiled under a stern tone. “Considering the alternative would have been the bottom of the ocean floor, I’d say a couch is more than sufficient.” He tried to reason with her, despite how lightly she was taking his answer this time. It didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere at all and even worse, he wasn’t even really behaving with any measure of discipline. Her smile weighed heavy on his chest, like he was safe keeping the memory for the future. He’d never been looked at like this before, with such a tenderness it softened his resolve with little effort.

He didn’t want to argue, especially not when either of them could hold together a straight face. He even smiled as he spoke, feeling his argument dampen with his inability to reiterate his point. “To me it is.” He responded swiftly, taking the hand that pushed him to place a hand over her own like he was extending gratitude. “That person is going to be me.” He searched her glazed eyes and they were bright and sparkling as he watched. Wrinkles formed at the edge of her eyes, nose pinching when something especially tickled her. It was so hard to say no.

“I’m not letting up.“ He promised. “But I am willing to compromise with you on this, it’s the least I can do.” He sighed and shook his head, smile trickling at the edges of his mouth. “Do you want to stack blankets on the floor, you can sleep next to me on your bed, where let me remind you, you will be regardless of wherever I will sleep.” He patted her hand and pulled it away, feeling the absence of its warmth almost instantly.

“I wish you didn’t have to lift a finger at all.” He chimed in when he wasn’t hyper focused on walking and removing his weight at her arms. “I’d do a lot less complaining if you had a lot less work. I know you’re capable, I’m sure - I’m positive you could handle it alone. But it’s not how I would do things if the situation was different.” He let it sit, then for a moment longer, and every second that passed felt worse, more regretful, like he said nothing and still too much. “I should alleviate your burdens not create new ones.”

As they entered the room and through the doorway it became apparent very quickly that there was only one bedroom, and it was hers. She fixed the blanket from the bed and towards him, practically ready to tuck him in as soon as they passed the threshold of her room. She had to have known he would protest because she started to fill the empty space with words of encouragement that he didn’t deserve, comfort he shouldn’t have been afforded. He tried to reason with what he wanted to say first, but fell on the thought that she deserved to receive something other than his immediate rejection for once.

Desmond was starting to feel like everything he was doing now was to soften every blow before it hit, the worst one of all being himself. The look on his face softened, even if he was already working himself up over the fact that she would even fathom a world where he would put her out in such a way. “You’re exceptional company.” He cut in quickly, wanting to get to his second point before she even thought of leaving this room. “Your food was great. I haven’t had this kind of thing in a long time, and it was nice.” Unfortunate for him that the only thing he could articulate well enough was how to say no and not express his emotions. “Regardless of the circumstances.”

“No, none of that, thank you. Just need you to help me get back to the other room and it’s the last thing I’ll ask of you.” It was the first time since he’d woken up fearful that he looked at her so sternly. “I’m not taking your bed, Jazz I’m sorry but I’m not. I don’t care if I was comatose…put me out on the couch I mean..did you think I’d let you?” he laughed, sitting up and moving the blankets off his legs. “You’ve been so warm and so kind to me, I don’t want to have to make things difficult for you, but if I have to make it down there myself I will.” He was already shifting himself off the bed, prepared to hear the many excuses she would have as to why he needed it, and hastened to deny her the opportunity. “You should’ve told me this mad idea before you brought me all the way down here, I wouldn’t have wasted your time.”

[desmondellis]

“I wish you didn’t have to lift a finger at all.” He chimed in when he wasn’t hyper focused on walking and removing his weight at her arms. “I’d do a lot less complaining if you had a lot less work. I know you’re capable, I’m sure - I’m positive you could handle it alone. But it’s not how I would do things if the situation was different.” He let it sit, then for a moment longer, and every second that passed felt worse, more regretful, like he said nothing and still too much. “I should alleviate your burdens not create new ones.”

As they entered the room and through the doorway it became apparent very quickly that there was only one bedroom, and it was hers. She fixed the blanket from the bed and towards him, practically ready to tuck him in as soon as they passed the threshold of her room. She had to have known he would protest because she started to fill the empty space with words of encouragement that he didn’t deserve, comfort he shouldn’t have been afforded. He tried to reason with what he wanted to say first, but fell on the thought that she deserved to receive something other than his immediate rejection for once.

Desmond was starting to feel like everything he was doing now was to soften every blow before it hit, the worst one of all being himself. The look on his face softened, even if he was already working himself up over the fact that she would even fathom a world where he would put her out in such a way. “You’re exceptional company.” He cut in quickly, wanting to get to his second point before she even thought of leaving this room. “Your food was great. I haven’t had this kind of thing in a long time, and it was nice.” Unfortunate for him that the only thing he could articulate well enough was how to say no and not express his emotions. “Regardless of the circumstances.”

“No, none of that, thank you. Just need you to help me get back to the other room and it’s the last thing I’ll ask of you.” It was the first time since he’d woken up fearful that he looked at her so sternly. “I’m not taking your bed, Jazz I’m sorry but I’m not. I don’t care if I was comatose…put me out on the couch I mean..did you think I’d let you?” he laughed, sitting up and moving the blankets off his legs. “You’ve been so warm and so kind to me, I don’t want to have to make things difficult for you, but if I have to make it down there myself I will.” He was already shifting himself off the bed, prepared to hear the many excuses she would have as to why he needed it, and hastened to deny her the opportunity. “You should’ve told me this mad idea before you brought me all the way down here, I wouldn’t have wasted your time.”

He couldn’t believe some of the things he was hearing. Hardly an enigma and hardly a myriad, even before she’d finished speaking had he already begun to laugh. Maybe it was in the self-reflection of his own boring ways or just how much it was real between the sitting truths and lies that made it humorous to him. He was anything but interesting, with a rigid routine and a strict discipline that had done a good deal of showing its ass tonight. He gave himself little pleasure in life, little room for enjoyment and even if he could cook he didn’t build on it the way he used to.

What she was so impressed by was just a fabrication. A clear shell covering of this person that didn’t even really exist. He felt a flip in his gut at the thought of it, leaving an anxious aftertaste. On top of being disingenuous to the woman that saved him, he was actually the most he’d been with someone in a very long time. It was profound how quickly she undid the years of sacrifice for next to nothing. “Really?” He finally said after pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Why do I feel like I didn’t say anything at all..” He laughed and his eyes lingered on her own smile, which his face had been mimicking for a time. “Is it because I can cook?”

There was something so acutely frustrating about getting off the couch and the absence of the comfort. Of course he obliged almost as soon as she had asked, there was no good reason to keep her waiting and risking the chance of putting her back into helping him more. By all accounts, he would have slept there if it meant more time to talk to her, and something he would have offered if he’d even had the passing thought about sleeping in general. Sleep was a difficult relationship for him and one that seemed to be at ends with each other. It would take significant effort on his part, as most nights even when he was healthy it wasn’t enough. There was always the overhead fear and hyper vigilance, the same one tapering off and failing him now.

“No pain,” he chuckled again, this time amused by her need to help. “It may be a while before I fall asleep, I’m a very fussy baby.” It was endearing, and even if she had been strong or willing enough to barrel him back to safety he wasn’t going to let her do so again. He let her grip his waist and sling his arm over her shoulder, but when he stood he pushed whatever pain he carried in his back in different directions. Desmond shifted his weight to one leg in an effort to lean into her less, doing most of the work to slowly move them towards the room.

“That’s probably best. I don’t want to bleed all over your sheets.” He sighed a bit as they trudged towards their destination, carrying his weight as they moved enough if it strained him. “You know tomorrow you’re gonna wake up feeling worse than me carrying me like this. I’m gonna split you in two, if you’re not careful.”

[desmondellis]

He couldn’t believe some of the things he was hearing. Hardly an enigma and hardly a myriad, even before she’d finished speaking had he already begun to laugh. Maybe it was in the self-reflection of his own boring ways or just how much it was real between the sitting truths and lies that made it humorous to him. He was anything but interesting, with a rigid routine and a strict discipline that had done a good deal of showing its ass tonight. He gave himself little pleasure in life, little room for enjoyment and even if he could cook he didn’t build on it the way he used to.

What she was so impressed by was just a fabrication. A clear shell covering of this person that didn’t even really exist. He felt a flip in his gut at the thought of it, leaving an anxious aftertaste. On top of being disingenuous to the woman that saved him, he was actually the most he’d been with someone in a very long time. It was profound how quickly she undid the years of sacrifice for next to nothing. “Really?” He finally said after pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Why do I feel like I didn’t say anything at all..” He laughed and his eyes lingered on her own smile, which his face had been mimicking for a time. “Is it because I can cook?”

There was something so acutely frustrating about getting off the couch and the absence of the comfort. Of course he obliged almost as soon as she had asked, there was no good reason to keep her waiting and risking the chance of putting her back into helping him more. By all accounts, he would have slept there if it meant more time to talk to her, and something he would have offered if he’d even had the passing thought about sleeping in general. Sleep was a difficult relationship for him and one that seemed to be at ends with each other. It would take significant effort on his part, as most nights even when he was healthy it wasn’t enough. There was always the overhead fear and hyper vigilance, the same one tapering off and failing him now.

“No pain,” he chuckled again, this time amused by her need to help. “It may be a while before I fall asleep, I’m a very fussy baby.” It was endearing, and even if she had been strong or willing enough to barrel him back to safety he wasn’t going to let her do so again. He let her grip his waist and sling his arm over her shoulder, but when he stood he pushed whatever pain he carried in his back in different directions. Desmond shifted his weight to one leg in an effort to lean into her less, doing most of the work to slowly move them towards the room.

“That’s probably best. I don’t want to bleed all over your sheets.” He sighed a bit as they trudged towards their destination, carrying his weight as they moved enough if it strained him. “You know tomorrow you’re gonna wake up feeling worse than me carrying me like this. I’m gonna split you in two, if you’re not careful.”

“It needed a couple more minutes.” He guessed, taking cues from how it looked as opposed to time. There were director’s edits of cuts so there was no way to be completely sure how much time had passed, but the golden bits on the top were indication enough. “It does, normally golden brown would be.” he assured her, looking her way as her head tilted ever so slightly in question. “But those bits that are sticking up, they need to be darker, crispier. That way the middle is just right.”

He chuckled at her observation, completely true in its assumption. “Honestly because he’s undercooking it.” He shook his head, almost as if in disappointment. “Some people when they get nervous, they have a hard time following through with things they’ve done loads of times. It’s such an easy mistake.“ This he’d seen in other times, where the fear and adrenaline shook your fingers in such a quake that the simplest mistake done millions of times correctly before was forgotten. It was human nature to crumble under pressure, but an unforgivable one for him, as it often between life or death. This was of course not the case for a badly cooked dish, but bits of his discipline leaked through.

He’d been sitting in thoughts for a second too long, not quick enough to catch her hands as they snatched his bowl to clean. Even if he did want to stop her, his legs would be too slow to protest and his mouth opened to complain to her face which looked almost expectant of it. Before he knew it, her hands were cupping another steaming cup of tea, passing it off to him as if he needed more liquid in his body. He accepted without a word, noting how the palms of her hand and the top felt as warm as the cup now in his own hands.

“No, not at all. I feel as good as I can, you’ve done enough.” He tried to remind her, even if it was falling on deaf ears. “Are you trying to send me to bed early?” He was surprised, smiling. “Now I think you don’t enjoy my company. Was it because I said I’d enjoy your food even if it was bog water, because I still would I just don’t think I should get sent to bed for it.”

[desmondellis]

“It needed a couple more minutes.” He guessed, taking cues from how it looked as opposed to time. There were director’s edits of cuts so there was no way to be completely sure how much time had passed, but the golden bits on the top were indication enough. “It does, normally golden brown would be.” he assured her, looking her way as her head tilted ever so slightly in question. “But those bits that are sticking up, they need to be darker, crispier. That way the middle is just right.”

He chuckled at her observation, completely true in its assumption. “Honestly because he’s undercooking it.” He shook his head, almost as if in disappointment. “Some people when they get nervous, they have a hard time following through with things they’ve done loads of times. It’s such an easy mistake.“ This he’d seen in other times, where the fear and adrenaline shook your fingers in such a quake that the simplest mistake done millions of times correctly before was forgotten. It was human nature to crumble under pressure, but an unforgivable one for him, as it often between life or death. This was of course not the case for a badly cooked dish, but bits of his discipline leaked through.

He’d been sitting in thoughts for a second too long, not quick enough to catch her hands as they snatched his bowl to clean. Even if he did want to stop her, his legs would be too slow to protest and his mouth opened to complain to her face which looked almost expectant of it. Before he knew it, her hands were cupping another steaming cup of tea, passing it off to him as if he needed more liquid in his body. He accepted without a word, noting how the palms of her hand and the top felt as warm as the cup now in his own hands.

“No, not at all. I feel as good as I can, you’ve done enough.” He tried to remind her, even if it was falling on deaf ears. “Are you trying to send me to bed early?” He was surprised, smiling. “Now I think you don’t enjoy my company. Was it because I said I’d enjoy your food even if it was bog water, because I still would I just don’t think I should get sent to bed for it.”

“Eh, maybe.” Des tried to find an agreement with her on this, but there was little room for envy in him, too. He only admired how freely she shifted around him, as if she wasn’t calculating the movement before she’d already done it. She wasn’t so in her head that she put much thought into her actions and its subsequent reactions, she just did. She was compassionate, trying to make him feel better even if she’d wrapped him in blankets, fed and bathed him, now she worked at empathy.

At some point in time he opened his mouth to try and throw something else in, delayed in speech, zoning out as her smile played along with her eyes. One was enough on its own but together, it made him not want to bother to speak at all, smile lingering as he laughed to himself. There was refuge in being able to eat and keep himself somewhat distracted, but it was hard to pull himself from what he wanted to look at. It felt like it might be the last time if he didn’t watch her words when she spoke, always feeling like he was on borrowed time. “Well just this once you can.”

Even when they had no business doing so, his eyes would slip on over to the side as she moved every so often, almost reactionary but without the intent. It was a show of selfishness, like he coveted them in short bouts. It only took a few times to rein him in but by then other factors joined in.

Without reserve just like the many other things she did, he could feel her inching closer. Her body was much warmer than his with much less on, and he could feel her hair slip over his shoulder, head heavy as it nearly leaned on him. He did nothing to stop it from happening, measuring a turn towards her face that wouldn’t put them in more of a compromising position. “I can tell you right now that’s not long enough in the oven.” It gave him a different kind of anxiety, laughing and allowing himself another short glance. “He’s gonna take it off the rack and it’s gonna sink in from the middle.” He chuckled nervously. “Do you watch this alone and yell at them? Don’t tell me you take any tips from these chumps.”

[desmondellis]

“Eh, maybe.” Des tried to find an agreement with her on this, but there was little room for envy in him, too. He only admired how freely she shifted around him, as if she wasn’t calculating the movement before she’d already done it. She wasn’t so in her head that she put much thought into her actions and its subsequent reactions, she just did. She was compassionate, trying to make him feel better even if she’d wrapped him in blankets, fed and bathed him, now she worked at empathy.

At some point in time he opened his mouth to try and throw something else in, delayed in speech, zoning out as her smile played along with her eyes. One was enough on its own but together, it made him not want to bother to speak at all, smile lingering as he laughed to himself. There was refuge in being able to eat and keep himself somewhat distracted, but it was hard to pull himself from what he wanted to look at. It felt like it might be the last time if he didn’t watch her words when she spoke, always feeling like he was on borrowed time. “Well just this once you can.”

Even when they had no business doing so, his eyes would slip on over to the side as she moved every so often, almost reactionary but without the intent. It was a show of selfishness, like he coveted them in short bouts. It only took a few times to rein him in but by then other factors joined in.

Without reserve just like the many other things she did, he could feel her inching closer. Her body was much warmer than his with much less on, and he could feel her hair slip over his shoulder, head heavy as it nearly leaned on him. He did nothing to stop it from happening, measuring a turn towards her face that wouldn’t put them in more of a compromising position. “I can tell you right now that’s not long enough in the oven.” It gave him a different kind of anxiety, laughing and allowing himself another short glance. “He’s gonna take it off the rack and it’s gonna sink in from the middle.” He chuckled nervously. “Do you watch this alone and yell at them? Don’t tell me you take any tips from these chumps.”

“Sometimes it can be too rigid.” The excuse he made was a stark betrayal of his teachings, almost akin to denying some sort in of religious following. “I have.” He sighed and adjusted himself, smiling as he did. “To the point of stubbornness, I think. Set in my ways, maybe. So I’ve heard.” He had lived within these rules for at least a decade, even establishing most of the newer regime to fit the new world they lived in now. To reduce it was a hypocrisy, and as the words flowed through they felt wrong in an instant. There couldn’t be any more truth to it, he’d heard it hundreds of times before. Desmond had never cared about it until now, when all he had to say was within a bigger lie, concealed by little white ones all in an attempt to normalize.

“I envy your openness.” Although really, it was more admiration than anything. “I lost that a long time ago.” It was the first time he ever doubted himself out loud. It wasn’t the softening of his demeanor that gave him pause, but the way he curved around an idealized version of himself. He wasn’t ashamed of what he did, but how it would look to her. It was his life mission. He found himself working to protect not only his own image, but to conceal all evidence that this even existed. Lucky for him that she found him in the middle of the ocean instead of land.

It took a second to pull his eyes from the face she was making, doubling back in a glance. It wasn’t so much a loss of words as much a lack of social skills and sentence cues, added on to her free spirit and range of speech. It was a skill which needed practice, not that he had cared for it in any other setting. It was odd to come to terms with the fact that he was so inconsistent with touch that anything lacking negative intent felt unnatural.

It didn’t raise alarms like it did before, but her finger tracing his hand nearly did. The feeling sent a shiver down his spine, her small finger against his callous ones. “Leather?” He said with a tone of surprise and sarcasm, muddled somewhere between her words. In any other instance he might have thought a woman was trying to hit on him, but her body gave her away. Her eyes weren’t locked in a lustful gaze, her fingers were idle and then ashamed, withdrawn as if she’d made a mistake she only noticed once it finished.

Whether or not it was a matter of leaving the table from tension or just to finish her meal, the weight was left in his chest as she shifted. It was hard for him to look away, like a precious second of looking at her might pass and be coveted later in regret. The voices in his head, the ones that fed him negative and intrusive thoughts gave light to how wrong she was, how much he didn’t deserve it. He shook them for being present, taking in the fact that however undeserving he was of her company he would have it regardless. Selfish and somewhat content in the fact, Desmond made himself comfortable as she poured large bowls of soup and handed them off.

She made quick work of changing the channel as he suggested, happy that she didn’t fight him off to watch the animals instead. “Well the jokes on you because I’m perfectly fine.” He insisted, but even a light jog around the room might still wind him. “Obviously I’m playing dumb for free soup and coddling.” It’s certainly what it felt like, now that he nestled comfortably into the cushions, almost captivated as she flit from one spot to the next. He finally relented and ate some as she requested, the steam coming off the top feeling quite nice on his face as he sipped. It wasn’t bad at all, and whatever lack of anything she had in the kitchen went unnoticed. It was easy to work around the basics as long as one followed direction.

“No it’s great.” He laughed after swallowing, taking another spoonful for good measure. “It doesn’t need anything,” he reassured. “Although if it did suck I wouldn’t tell you anyway.” He met her with a smile, something he’d done so scarcely he could physically notice how often he was. “It’s not bad, though, really.” He spun the silver in the bowl a few times to let the heat out. “It’s just about following a recipe that’s all, and soup is easy.” Brushing it off, he took another bite. “I hope you’re not getting takeout all the time. You gotta put these cooking shows to good use.” For her it might just have been a guilty pleasure and much less instructional. He was always one for the discipline for the craft. “It’s a shame I’m not more mobile, I could show you how to make really good bog water.”

[desmondellis]

“Sometimes it can be too rigid.” The excuse he made was a stark betrayal of his teachings, almost akin to denying some sort in of religious following. “I have.” He sighed and adjusted himself, smiling as he did. “To the point of stubbornness, I think. Set in my ways, maybe. So I’ve heard.” He had lived within these rules for at least a decade, even establishing most of the newer regime to fit the new world they lived in now. To reduce it was a hypocrisy, and as the words flowed through they felt wrong in an instant. There couldn’t be any more truth to it, he’d heard it hundreds of times before. Desmond had never cared about it until now, when all he had to say was within a bigger lie, concealed by little white ones all in an attempt to normalize.

“I envy your openness.” Although really, it was more admiration than anything. “I lost that a long time ago.” It was the first time he ever doubted himself out loud. It wasn’t the softening of his demeanor that gave him pause, but the way he curved around an idealized version of himself. He wasn’t ashamed of what he did, but how it would look to her. It was his life mission. He found himself working to protect not only his own image, but to conceal all evidence that this even existed. Lucky for him that she found him in the middle of the ocean instead of land.

It took a second to pull his eyes from the face she was making, doubling back in a glance. It wasn’t so much a loss of words as much a lack of social skills and sentence cues, added on to her free spirit and range of speech. It was a skill which needed practice, not that he had cared for it in any other setting. It was odd to come to terms with the fact that he was so inconsistent with touch that anything lacking negative intent felt unnatural.

It didn’t raise alarms like it did before, but her finger tracing his hand nearly did. The feeling sent a shiver down his spine, her small finger against his callous ones. “Leather?” He said with a tone of surprise and sarcasm, muddled somewhere between her words. In any other instance he might have thought a woman was trying to hit on him, but her body gave her away. Her eyes weren’t locked in a lustful gaze, her fingers were idle and then ashamed, withdrawn as if she’d made a mistake she only noticed once it finished.

Whether or not it was a matter of leaving the table from tension or just to finish her meal, the weight was left in his chest as she shifted. It was hard for him to look away, like a precious second of looking at her might pass and be coveted later in regret. The voices in his head, the ones that fed him negative and intrusive thoughts gave light to how wrong she was, how much he didn’t deserve it. He shook them for being present, taking in the fact that however undeserving he was of her company he would have it regardless. Selfish and somewhat content in the fact, Desmond made himself comfortable as she poured large bowls of soup and handed them off.

She made quick work of changing the channel as he suggested, happy that she didn’t fight him off to watch the animals instead. “Well the jokes on you because I’m perfectly fine.” He insisted, but even a light jog around the room might still wind him. “Obviously I’m playing dumb for free soup and coddling.” It’s certainly what it felt like, now that he nestled comfortably into the cushions, almost captivated as she flit from one spot to the next. He finally relented and ate some as she requested, the steam coming off the top feeling quite nice on his face as he sipped. It wasn’t bad at all, and whatever lack of anything she had in the kitchen went unnoticed. It was easy to work around the basics as long as one followed direction.

“No it’s great.” He laughed after swallowing, taking another spoonful for good measure. “It doesn’t need anything,” he reassured. “Although if it did suck I wouldn’t tell you anyway.” He met her with a smile, something he’d done so scarcely he could physically notice how often he was. “It’s not bad, though, really.” He spun the silver in the bowl a few times to let the heat out. “It’s just about following a recipe that’s all, and soup is easy.” Brushing it off, he took another bite. “I hope you’re not getting takeout all the time. You gotta put these cooking shows to good use.” For her it might just have been a guilty pleasure and much less instructional. He was always one for the discipline for the craft. “It’s a shame I’m not more mobile, I could show you how to make really good bog water.”

“That’s okay.” He tried his hand at comfort, a spontaneous change of character even for him. “That’s okay, me either, really.” Even though Desmond spent most of his time surrounded with others who shared his motivations he knew that didn’t necessarily mean they were friends. There were those he liked and some he didn’t, but he no sooner left the space open to connect with others enough to form a friendship. And everyone else was there by obligation, as Desmond hardly radiated any kind of warmth. He sensed her reasons were much less complex and that the smile she painted on was a passing cover for some degree of loneliness or another. This was not the country of particular hospitality and he imagined for her that varied for many different reasons. Still, he felt sad that someone so eager to connect had little chance to do so. Maybe in the time he was trapped here he could indulge in that.

“Definitely don’t knit.” He added, laughing. Desmond watched on as she made her careful observation directed towards his chest. “Yeah, I go to the gym.” He lied, as it was the only viable and conveniently the easiest excuse in the book. Had he been a timid man the way she was looking at him would have made him nervous. Desmond had already begun spinning excuses in his own head to justify why he would suddenly feel pride at being looked at this way, in full denial that even he craved affection. For a just a second too long he let himself watch, tearing his eyes away when he knew it would become too long, a feeling of pride wash over him.

Engaged, a small smile hung somewhat idly as she listed off the various things she thought he might do in his off time. She seemed to sense his attention because she placed her hand at her chin and rested there, and though the action surely served her it seemed to only place her that much closer to eye level. It made the questions she asked that much sharper. An irony fitting for someone with such a soiled past, it was almost as if higher powers might be taking personal enjoyment in his struggle.

“Boating, camping.” Something like that was what he would’ve said had he cared less about making an impression. “Are all men’s hands not this way?” He picked at her, turning his hands palm facing to observe. “Probably felt like leather,” he noted, taking a finger to slide over some callous part of his skin, then to a scar. “Your hands are much softer. That’s good, you shouldn’t have to do manual labor, like picking men up at sea.” The thought of losing the way she looked at him was becoming something of a problem. There was of course, a need to maintain anonymity but it was blatantly worse, he hadn’t even mentioned he hunted, period. He thought even the idea he would kill animals might turn her away.

“Yeah, I like fish. The ones I eat, anyway.” He took a sip and placed the mug down. “I don’t swim in the water here all too much, not many fish to see.” The seas were barely worth boating in, and he almost wished she’d found him on land because it was easier to lie about that. Glad to let her lean in to whatever she was genuinely interested in, he smiled as she gushed. She seemed happy to be asked, happy that someone on the other end might care and want to know.

He didn’t have to act to do so, flicking his attention down to her lips for a second as she pulled her mug down from her mouth. “Well if it was you’ve already lost.” He quickly shifted from what actions she would easily clock. “I think we should watch it.” He encouraged, more for wanting to see how she acted while they watched. “Pick and choose our favorites, who we think will win. I want to trust your judge of character but you brought me in from the storm, so I have to guess you might like broken things. You always root for the underdog?” He asked in a way that sounded assumptive.

[desmondellis]

“That’s okay.” He tried his hand at comfort, a spontaneous change of character even for him. “That’s okay, me either, really.” Even though Desmond spent most of his time surrounded with others who shared his motivations he knew that didn’t necessarily mean they were friends. There were those he liked and some he didn’t, but he no sooner left the space open to connect with others enough to form a friendship. And everyone else was there by obligation, as Desmond hardly radiated any kind of warmth. He sensed her reasons were much less complex and that the smile she painted on was a passing cover for some degree of loneliness or another. This was not the country of particular hospitality and he imagined for her that varied for many different reasons. Still, he felt sad that someone so eager to connect had little chance to do so. Maybe in the time he was trapped here he could indulge in that.

“Definitely don’t knit.” He added, laughing. Desmond watched on as she made her careful observation directed towards his chest. “Yeah, I go to the gym.” He lied, as it was the only viable and conveniently the easiest excuse in the book. Had he been a timid man the way she was looking at him would have made him nervous. Desmond had already begun spinning excuses in his own head to justify why he would suddenly feel pride at being looked at this way, in full denial that even he craved affection. For a just a second too long he let himself watch, tearing his eyes away when he knew it would become too long, a feeling of pride wash over him.

Engaged, a small smile hung somewhat idly as she listed off the various things she thought he might do in his off time. She seemed to sense his attention because she placed her hand at her chin and rested there, and though the action surely served her it seemed to only place her that much closer to eye level. It made the questions she asked that much sharper. An irony fitting for someone with such a soiled past, it was almost as if higher powers might be taking personal enjoyment in his struggle.

“Boating, camping.” Something like that was what he would’ve said had he cared less about making an impression. “Are all men’s hands not this way?” He picked at her, turning his hands palm facing to observe. “Probably felt like leather,” he noted, taking a finger to slide over some callous part of his skin, then to a scar. “Your hands are much softer. That’s good, you shouldn’t have to do manual labor, like picking men up at sea.” The thought of losing the way she looked at him was becoming something of a problem. There was of course, a need to maintain anonymity but it was blatantly worse, he hadn’t even mentioned he hunted, period. He thought even the idea he would kill animals might turn her away.

“Yeah, I like fish. The ones I eat, anyway.” He took a sip and placed the mug down. “I don’t swim in the water here all too much, not many fish to see.” The seas were barely worth boating in, and he almost wished she’d found him on land because it was easier to lie about that. Glad to let her lean in to whatever she was genuinely interested in, he smiled as she gushed. She seemed happy to be asked, happy that someone on the other end might care and want to know.

He didn’t have to act to do so, flicking his attention down to her lips for a second as she pulled her mug down from her mouth. “Well if it was you’ve already lost.” He quickly shifted from what actions she would easily clock. “I think we should watch it.” He encouraged, more for wanting to see how she acted while they watched. “Pick and choose our favorites, who we think will win. I want to trust your judge of character but you brought me in from the storm, so I have to guess you might like broken things. You always root for the underdog?” He asked in a way that sounded assumptive.

As distracted as he had been before, Desmond kept his eyes glued to her handiwork. Her nose bunched in small wrinkles as she smiled and he caught it, almost captivated as he watched. As he heard her go on in the midst of her busy hands about how lonely she got. It must be something she had been used to, the way she spoke of it with consideration. A tinge of guilt stung in his stomach at how his eagerness to leave might be perceived and how it only contributed to her feelings of isolation.

To connect with others often involved minute means of selflessness, and while asking questions would otherwise be used as intel, Desmond felt a certain interest spark as the exchange of knowledge. “You don’t have family up here, no friends?” He did want to know, collecting it for a future not guaranteed. He didn’t mean for his line of questioning to be so rough. “You’re here by yourself in this country?” She must have already known the dangers, but even outside of where she resided, living alone in this country for her could not have been a consistent pleasure.

The same pride he spoke of before he suddenly felt again now, pride at how surprised she was at this unlikely reveal. In all reality he felt there was not much about him that was all that interesting, and what he did otherwise was unbecoming as well. Her eyes shot to him with this kind of wonder that he sat in. It felt like a warm blanket on his shoulders, the kind of excitement he never allowed himself bestowed upon him with genuine fascination. He laughed at her assumptions as they were nearly fully correct. “Whittling?” He returned the word with an astonishment, laughing at her. “You think I whittle in my off time?”

He took the cup in his hand and felt the warm condensation at his fingers, and it caused a slight shiver at his back. The bath had been warm enough to bring him back to normal but even the cup in his hand soothed him further, body remaining in its relaxed state. “Sure, I’ll make you something,” the very beginnings of a promise, Desmond already felt the regret as the words left his mouth, an attachment beginning to form. “But I’m sure whatever you’re making is lovely. It smells good.”

“Animal planet?” he answered with some measure of shame in his tone. “I didn’t know what to watch.” He admitted. He took a small sip of the tea and reached for the small spoon, tipping the sugar cube over the edge and into the cup. “Get reacquainted with my underwater friends or something, I guess.” He shrugged it off, trying to level off his embarrassment for not knowing any better. “I’m up for any suggestions, I don’t watch all that much TV what between all my whittling.” He teased as he took another, longer sip of his tea.

[desmondellis]

As distracted as he had been before, Desmond kept his eyes glued to her handiwork. Her nose bunched in small wrinkles as she smiled and he caught it, almost captivated as he watched. As he heard her go on in the midst of her busy hands about how lonely she got. It must be something she had been used to, the way she spoke of it with consideration. A tinge of guilt stung in his stomach at how his eagerness to leave might be perceived and how it only contributed to her feelings of isolation.

To connect with others often involved minute means of selflessness, and while asking questions would otherwise be used as intel, Desmond felt a certain interest spark as the exchange of knowledge. “You don’t have family up here, no friends?” He did want to know, collecting it for a future not guaranteed. He didn’t mean for his line of questioning to be so rough. “You’re here by yourself in this country?” She must have already known the dangers, but even outside of where she resided, living alone in this country for her could not have been a consistent pleasure.

The same pride he spoke of before he suddenly felt again now, pride at how surprised she was at this unlikely reveal. In all reality he felt there was not much about him that was all that interesting, and what he did otherwise was unbecoming as well. Her eyes shot to him with this kind of wonder that he sat in. It felt like a warm blanket on his shoulders, the kind of excitement he never allowed himself bestowed upon him with genuine fascination. He laughed at her assumptions as they were nearly fully correct. “Whittling?” He returned the word with an astonishment, laughing at her. “You think I whittle in my off time?”

He took the cup in his hand and felt the warm condensation at his fingers, and it caused a slight shiver at his back. The bath had been warm enough to bring him back to normal but even the cup in his hand soothed him further, body remaining in its relaxed state. “Sure, I’ll make you something,” the very beginnings of a promise, Desmond already felt the regret as the words left his mouth, an attachment beginning to form. “But I’m sure whatever you’re making is lovely. It smells good.”

“Animal planet?” he answered with some measure of shame in his tone. “I didn’t know what to watch.” He admitted. He took a small sip of the tea and reached for the small spoon, tipping the sugar cube over the edge and into the cup. “Get reacquainted with my underwater friends or something, I guess.” He shrugged it off, trying to level off his embarrassment for not knowing any better. “I’m up for any suggestions, I don’t watch all that much TV what between all my whittling.” He teased as he took another, longer sip of his tea.

In lieu of her hospitality, Desmond refrained from sighing. It came from a place of his own insecurity and had he made the noise he would’ve regretted it almost instantly. As she had with most everything before, she deterred him from his offer and likely for any other help he might offer in the future. He let it be in hopes that sometime during the night he might regain more of his footing. He had to guess that she was compensating for his lack of self control, and maybe when he was back to himself she might see differently and let him help.

All hunches correct, he nearly let out a dragging breath at her fingers on his arm, another reminder of his lingering injury. “I guess not,” he remarked, a chuckle full of sarcasm. “I can’t even die right.” Not wanting to insult her further, he walked over to the couch and took a seat, some steps away as her fingers reached and let him go on his own, like a child riding a bike for the first time.

Once he had, he didn’t let on how lovely it felt to sit again, perhaps sore from the very minute exercise he had gotten taking care of himself in the bath. It was strange to indulge in comfort. He’d always refrained from the luxuries of life, and in reality, this had been the first time in years that he’d spent any amount of time just being, without something on the docket. There was no schedule to follow, no way for him to go through his routines. It felt foreign just to relax, like there might be some dire situation on the horizon he wasn’t there to manage. He took the remote in his hands. “Thank you.” He smiled, knowing nothing of what to do next.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he knew nothing about it. He wasn’t anywhere near as media literate as most people, and even if he had seen shows and films they weren’t the constant talking point between friends. He clicked the profile name and sifted through as if in search of something. Even as he opened his mouth she stopped him, already turned to head towards the kitchen with her mind set and made up. Pots and pans clinked against another, silverware and the sound of plates filling the air as he clicked on something that could be completely neutral and unbiased, some branch of animal planet. It was strangely comforting and Des pressed his back into the couch, even slinging an arm over the top to adjust himself in the seat before placing it on the pillow at his lap.

For some reason, the mix of the television and food being prepped in the kitchen provided some kind of remnant of a past time, when he was much younger than he was now and it soothed him. Her laugh was so different, even her voice was pleasing to the ear, over every other background noise washed a calm over him as if he hadn’t nearly died just hours prior. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped looking at the TV, zoning out as he watched her work as if it was better than the television she talked about.

“I’m an excellent cook, actually.” He smiled over at her, for one of the few times tonight without anxiety behind it. “I used to do it all the time, I don’t know, I guess I found it relaxing.” The sounds must have sparked nostalgia, reminding him of times before this consuming way of life when he’d enjoyed simpler things. “Every step is measured and timed. And the satisfaction of creating something and watching someone enjoy it.” It was always something he was inclined to, careful and meticulous as he was in life he had been with food. “If I could stand longer than a few minutes I’d show you myself.” His drive for competition was slightly peeking through, but he would have loved to prove her right, chuckling. “Just watching you make food makes me feel like I’m lying about my legs.”

[desmondellis]

In lieu of her hospitality, Desmond refrained from sighing. It came from a place of his own insecurity and had he made the noise he would’ve regretted it almost instantly. As she had with most everything before, she deterred him from his offer and likely for any other help he might offer in the future. He let it be in hopes that sometime during the night he might regain more of his footing. He had to guess that she was compensating for his lack of self control, and maybe when he was back to himself she might see differently and let him help.

All hunches correct, he nearly let out a dragging breath at her fingers on his arm, another reminder of his lingering injury. “I guess not,” he remarked, a chuckle full of sarcasm. “I can’t even die right.” Not wanting to insult her further, he walked over to the couch and took a seat, some steps away as her fingers reached and let him go on his own, like a child riding a bike for the first time.

Once he had, he didn’t let on how lovely it felt to sit again, perhaps sore from the very minute exercise he had gotten taking care of himself in the bath. It was strange to indulge in comfort. He’d always refrained from the luxuries of life, and in reality, this had been the first time in years that he’d spent any amount of time just being, without something on the docket. There was no schedule to follow, no way for him to go through his routines. It felt foreign just to relax, like there might be some dire situation on the horizon he wasn’t there to manage. He took the remote in his hands. “Thank you.” He smiled, knowing nothing of what to do next.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he knew nothing about it. He wasn’t anywhere near as media literate as most people, and even if he had seen shows and films they weren’t the constant talking point between friends. He clicked the profile name and sifted through as if in search of something. Even as he opened his mouth she stopped him, already turned to head towards the kitchen with her mind set and made up. Pots and pans clinked against another, silverware and the sound of plates filling the air as he clicked on something that could be completely neutral and unbiased, some branch of animal planet. It was strangely comforting and Des pressed his back into the couch, even slinging an arm over the top to adjust himself in the seat before placing it on the pillow at his lap.

For some reason, the mix of the television and food being prepped in the kitchen provided some kind of remnant of a past time, when he was much younger than he was now and it soothed him. Her laugh was so different, even her voice was pleasing to the ear, over every other background noise washed a calm over him as if he hadn’t nearly died just hours prior. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped looking at the TV, zoning out as he watched her work as if it was better than the television she talked about.

“I’m an excellent cook, actually.” He smiled over at her, for one of the few times tonight without anxiety behind it. “I used to do it all the time, I don’t know, I guess I found it relaxing.” The sounds must have sparked nostalgia, reminding him of times before this consuming way of life when he’d enjoyed simpler things. “Every step is measured and timed. And the satisfaction of creating something and watching someone enjoy it.” It was always something he was inclined to, careful and meticulous as he was in life he had been with food. “If I could stand longer than a few minutes I’d show you myself.” His drive for competition was slightly peeking through, but he would have loved to prove her right, chuckling. “Just watching you make food makes me feel like I’m lying about my legs.”

“Oh you’d probably just nurse me back to health and tell me the whole time how defiant I am.” He presumed, probably correctly. She was so concerned with his health, and all he wanted was to regain the ability to stand alone. It felt debilitating, feeling like he had all the catching up to do in the world, unsure if come morning he’d be able to do much of anything. It was one of the first times he’d ever had to lie to such an extent, to weave around what would be a proper explanation for it all had the truth been more appealing.

Other than the situation ceasing to happen, Des never cared enough to continue lying, not enough about anyone to even continue a conversation that was without purpose. For some reason, maybe the debt of his life, he felt bad for lying and even worse for not being able to tell her the truth. As it stood he already broke several of his own rules, rules that if anyone else dared to break would be met with swift discipline. This person he was with her, it was the very definition of hypocritical, a stark contrast from the individual he was outside of this house.

Whether or not she would ever come to know the truth, Desmond imagined the storm would soon subside and that it would become a non-factor or at least, that was the hope. “Unfortunate for you that you did,” he chimed in, not letting on how annoying it was that he needed so much of her help. “Would’ve been a nice and peaceful evening inside for you.” A smile, one not accompanied by an anxious laugh, genuine.

Perhaps due to the fact that he was not 100% or maybe from his most recent fall, he hadn’t been paying all that much attention to how they now sat in the tub. It wasn’t that the thought never occurred to him or that those desires didn’t still exist in some deep part of him, but the truth of the matter was that he’d long given up on companionship. There was no feasible future that he could see himself putting another person at risk, and who he was was less than desirable. He never delved in anyone longer than necessary, better to leave before getting too involved.

But he was stuck here for the night, settled under a beautiful woman at the bottom of a warm, porcelain tub. With little left in sight, he watched as the mouth that was usually full of words lacking them and hanging open, eyes impulsive in their travel. He felt the warmth in his cheeks and knew nothing could be done of what was happening in a much lower part of his body, but he didn’t have to guess. Jazzmyn was already pulling herself out as a rush of water cascaded below her.

Both of their clothes now covered in water, Desmond did something he hadn’t done in years. He felt something bubbling in the farthest reaches of his chest, and his eyes that had been trained to levels of expert focus now found themselves unable to look, the same way she’d done to him. He met his attraction with as much resistance as her aid, not wanting to succumb to the very easy temptation. Something that might have been easier had she not been so pleasing to look at. Up close, her eyes were a light brown, mouth sharp as it pursed then blossomed into a smile, one that he’d been clocking since he’d opened his eyes. It would be so easy to fall into this trap, he knew exactly how to retreat, but he was stuck in a room of corners with nowhere to run. Whatever defenses he had in place had already betrayed him. Being nice was a task in and of itself, but now something else joined in tandem, a fear rising in the pit of his stomach.

It was hard to deny it, now that it took form in a way that his body told quite clearly, afraid for brief moments that she felt him growing underneath her. It was probably for the best that she left now, even just her shifting above him nearly earned her a disgruntled groan. Now it was his turn to look up at her, sitting up in his spot. “Take one for yourself,” he urged, prying his eyes away from her and blinking the thoughts away, gripping the edge of the tub to lift himself. Des watched her bustle out of the room with a bunch of towels, littering then along the floor the others tucked in the curve of her arm.

Once she’d left and closed the door, he lifted himself from his slump, filled the tub again and slipped in this time on purpose and without clothes. He took his time, or at least it felt that way, because when he got out his skin was a patchy pink, ears and tips of his fingers candy red. She’d been nice enough to leave a copious amount of towels, and clothes to the side which looked mismatched but probably enough to fit. As he slipped into the spare articles of clothing, he walked out from the bathroom paced slowly, rubbing his hair with the towel. “Thank you.. for that, it was… actually really nice.” He added with a smile, trying to chase away the sudden feeling of embarrassment. It felt better to walk on his own, even if it was at a glacial pace. “Can I at least help you with the food?”

[desmondellis]

“Oh you’d probably just nurse me back to health and tell me the whole time how defiant I am.” He presumed, probably correctly. She was so concerned with his health, and all he wanted was to regain the ability to stand alone. It felt debilitating, feeling like he had all the catching up to do in the world, unsure if come morning he’d be able to do much of anything. It was one of the first times he’d ever had to lie to such an extent, to weave around what would be a proper explanation for it all had the truth been more appealing.

Other than the situation ceasing to happen, Des never cared enough to continue lying, not enough about anyone to even continue a conversation that was without purpose. For some reason, maybe the debt of his life, he felt bad for lying and even worse for not being able to tell her the truth. As it stood he already broke several of his own rules, rules that if anyone else dared to break would be met with swift discipline. This person he was with her, it was the very definition of hypocritical, a stark contrast from the individual he was outside of this house.

Whether or not she would ever come to know the truth, Desmond imagined the storm would soon subside and that it would become a non-factor or at least, that was the hope. “Unfortunate for you that you did,” he chimed in, not letting on how annoying it was that he needed so much of her help. “Would’ve been a nice and peaceful evening inside for you.” A smile, one not accompanied by an anxious laugh, genuine.

Perhaps due to the fact that he was not 100% or maybe from his most recent fall, he hadn’t been paying all that much attention to how they now sat in the tub. It wasn’t that the thought never occurred to him or that those desires didn’t still exist in some deep part of him, but the truth of the matter was that he’d long given up on companionship. There was no feasible future that he could see himself putting another person at risk, and who he was was less than desirable. He never delved in anyone longer than necessary, better to leave before getting too involved.

But he was stuck here for the night, settled under a beautiful woman at the bottom of a warm, porcelain tub. With little left in sight, he watched as the mouth that was usually full of words lacking them and hanging open, eyes impulsive in their travel. He felt the warmth in his cheeks and knew nothing could be done of what was happening in a much lower part of his body, but he didn’t have to guess. Jazzmyn was already pulling herself out as a rush of water cascaded below her.

Both of their clothes now covered in water, Desmond did something he hadn’t done in years. He felt something bubbling in the farthest reaches of his chest, and his eyes that had been trained to levels of expert focus now found themselves unable to look, the same way she’d done to him. He met his attraction with as much resistance as her aid, not wanting to succumb to the very easy temptation. Something that might have been easier had she not been so pleasing to look at. Up close, her eyes were a light brown, mouth sharp as it pursed then blossomed into a smile, one that he’d been clocking since he’d opened his eyes. It would be so easy to fall into this trap, he knew exactly how to retreat, but he was stuck in a room of corners with nowhere to run. Whatever defenses he had in place had already betrayed him. Being nice was a task in and of itself, but now something else joined in tandem, a fear rising in the pit of his stomach.

It was hard to deny it, now that it took form in a way that his body told quite clearly, afraid for brief moments that she felt him growing underneath her. It was probably for the best that she left now, even just her shifting above him nearly earned her a disgruntled groan. Now it was his turn to look up at her, sitting up in his spot. “Take one for yourself,” he urged, prying his eyes away from her and blinking the thoughts away, gripping the edge of the tub to lift himself. Des watched her bustle out of the room with a bunch of towels, littering then along the floor the others tucked in the curve of her arm.

Once she’d left and closed the door, he lifted himself from his slump, filled the tub again and slipped in this time on purpose and without clothes. He took his time, or at least it felt that way, because when he got out his skin was a patchy pink, ears and tips of his fingers candy red. She’d been nice enough to leave a copious amount of towels, and clothes to the side which looked mismatched but probably enough to fit. As he slipped into the spare articles of clothing, he walked out from the bathroom paced slowly, rubbing his hair with the towel. “Thank you.. for that, it was… actually really nice.” He added with a smile, trying to chase away the sudden feeling of embarrassment. It felt better to walk on his own, even if it was at a glacial pace. “Can I at least help you with the food?”

Desmond listened to her words as they filtered down to him, who had slumped his head and shoulders it would seem in admitted defeat. He was still unsteady on the porcelain of the edge of the tub, feeling the shift between his own imbalance and the one growing with her. Of course she sounded upset, and even though he knew little of her he knew that was already on its way as he picked her up and struggled to sit.

There was a scrunch in the curve of her nose and her face tightened in upset, but her tone told him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t as serious as she was making it out to be and so he dismissed it, practically before it ever came out of her mouth. “Not much to impress when I barely have use of my legs and need you to carry me.” He added between her rantings. He knew he wasn’t doing much of making anywhere near a good impression, and Jazzmyn would never know how different a man he was outside this interaction. For now, he just looked stubborn and distrustful.

As much as he would have loved to prove his competence and make right on the goodwill that she had offered to him, it would also come with the alternative end to a knowledge he didn’t want her to come in contact with. Outside of being almost entirely evasive with human contact, Des restricted most of his interactions to those who knew he was a hunter, most a part of the organization. Outside of that was a liability, and she was already doing too much to keep him alive as it was.

Moments later, when her words had blurred and mingled with the depths of his thoughts, he felt her unsteady wiggle, fingers clasping him the same way he’d just done moments prior. She was slipping and took him with her, Des feeling the wind and open fall as he anticipated his back clashing with the bottom of the tub. In trend with the rest of this night, Jazzmyn rushed her hand to hold the back of his head before they met the water, soaking each end of the bathtub to the floor as it pooled over the tiles.

Almost instinctively, Des hissed. But not because he was in any pain himself, though he could feel the sharp pain in his back that only added itself to the growing list of things that were of no fault of her own. “Yeah I’m fine,” he grumbled. “It’s just water.” He’d learned to redirect his pain, focus it somewhere else which might have been easier had she not been so adamant on relieving it. The sound of discomfort formed a groan in his chest, breath coming out hot.

“Your hands.” He chastised her, his turn to reprimand her for her help. “Are your hands okay?” He felt her appendages on the back of his head and reached for them, sloshing the water around them in ripples as he ignored her worried questions. He pulled them from cradling his head, bringing them forward for further inspection and thumbing over each limb carefully. He saw no bruising and looked up at her with a tired sigh. “I survived half dead in the Romanian sea, I could’ve hit rocks on the shore..” he mused, returning her hand back into her possession, eyes flicking back up to hers. “You think the bath is gonna take me out?” He gruffed, adjusting himself in the tub, suddenly aware of how she was positioned above him.

She had already buried his face in his chest and coddled him, but it felt more jarring now they were face to face. “Really just taking no for an answer, huh?” He chuckled through the nervousness. One of his hands moved to adjust her at the waist but he was too weak to pluck her from the tub, groaning at the action itself, laughing again out of how little control he had of the situation, smiling through the sting of passing pain. “I feel like you’re trying to injure me so you can bathe me yourself.” Flushed and embarrassed his hand even made the movement towards her waist to move her, he ran his hand through his hair from getting in his face.

[desmondellis]

Desmond listened to her words as they filtered down to him, who had slumped his head and shoulders it would seem in admitted defeat. He was still unsteady on the porcelain of the edge of the tub, feeling the shift between his own imbalance and the one growing with her. Of course she sounded upset, and even though he knew little of her he knew that was already on its way as he picked her up and struggled to sit.

There was a scrunch in the curve of her nose and her face tightened in upset, but her tone told him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t as serious as she was making it out to be and so he dismissed it, practically before it ever came out of her mouth. “Not much to impress when I barely have use of my legs and need you to carry me.” He added between her rantings. He knew he wasn’t doing much of making anywhere near a good impression, and Jazzmyn would never know how different a man he was outside this interaction. For now, he just looked stubborn and distrustful.

As much as he would have loved to prove his competence and make right on the goodwill that she had offered to him, it would also come with the alternative end to a knowledge he didn’t want her to come in contact with. Outside of being almost entirely evasive with human contact, Des restricted most of his interactions to those who knew he was a hunter, most a part of the organization. Outside of that was a liability, and she was already doing too much to keep him alive as it was.

Moments later, when her words had blurred and mingled with the depths of his thoughts, he felt her unsteady wiggle, fingers clasping him the same way he’d just done moments prior. She was slipping and took him with her, Des feeling the wind and open fall as he anticipated his back clashing with the bottom of the tub. In trend with the rest of this night, Jazzmyn rushed her hand to hold the back of his head before they met the water, soaking each end of the bathtub to the floor as it pooled over the tiles.

Almost instinctively, Des hissed. But not because he was in any pain himself, though he could feel the sharp pain in his back that only added itself to the growing list of things that were of no fault of her own. “Yeah I’m fine,” he grumbled. “It’s just water.” He’d learned to redirect his pain, focus it somewhere else which might have been easier had she not been so adamant on relieving it. The sound of discomfort formed a groan in his chest, breath coming out hot.

“Your hands.” He chastised her, his turn to reprimand her for her help. “Are your hands okay?” He felt her appendages on the back of his head and reached for them, sloshing the water around them in ripples as he ignored her worried questions. He pulled them from cradling his head, bringing them forward for further inspection and thumbing over each limb carefully. He saw no bruising and looked up at her with a tired sigh. “I survived half dead in the Romanian sea, I could’ve hit rocks on the shore..” he mused, returning her hand back into her possession, eyes flicking back up to hers. “You think the bath is gonna take me out?” He gruffed, adjusting himself in the tub, suddenly aware of how she was positioned above him.

She had already buried his face in his chest and coddled him, but it felt more jarring now they were face to face. “Really just taking no for an answer, huh?” He chuckled through the nervousness. One of his hands moved to adjust her at the waist but he was too weak to pluck her from the tub, groaning at the action itself, laughing again out of how little control he had of the situation, smiling through the sting of passing pain. “I feel like you’re trying to injure me so you can bathe me yourself.” Flushed and embarrassed his hand even made the movement towards her waist to move her, he ran his hand through his hair from getting in his face.

Without her knowing, he started to crack a smile under the stretch of removing his shirt. He heard her theatrical gasp and how she teased him again, wanting to laugh under the fabric. It was comical all of the alternatives she came up with when he denied her help. It had everything to do with what he lacked and less about her individually. If she knew all that he did maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to explain, but then she’d know the real him, and that was somehow worse.

He didn’t think she would linger long, steam already collecting in the air and disappearing on the ceiling, the mirror already fogging. It was the first* thing he felt he looked forward to, and maybe part of it was that with this at least he could do alone. He didn’t have to feel inadequate in how debilitating his recovery was, he didn’t have to come up with some excuse as to why he was so resistant to touch.

For the first time in the short time he’d been awake, Jazzmyn stuttered, voice unsure and dismissive. From what he knew of her, her words splayed out like endless generosity like she might be able to express her warmth through voice. She reached for some towels like she was in a hurry, no doubt from his voiced hesitation. He saw it happening before it did, the way her feet hit the floor and how moments later she would careen to the floor. In full health, he might have caught her fall but as of now, he was next to useless.

Still, he felt the shame of another instance of his helplessness and it pained him. Expecting a fight, Des narrowed all his focus into his body and how to mask the inevitable ache of lowering his body on his own. It would mean admitting he needed her help again and further than that, do next to nothing to alleviate her burden. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel bad.” He sighed, letting the breath veil itself as anything but a release of silent effort as he leaned down, bent on one knee, one arm extended to pick her up. Holding her weight on his end, he lifted her from the floor and avoided her elbows which by now would be sore. He didn’t pant or groan but his body was screaming to do so, all throughout his time holding her which felt much longer for him than it actually was.

When he did stand he wanted to do it less than he ever had in his whole life. Not wanting to seem anymore weak he tried to sit on the back end of the curved edge of the tub, but as he shifted on the ceramic he felt himself slipping. It was clumsy, a grunt falling from his mouth before he adjusted himself or she held on tight enough, whichever helped more. One of his hands, the free one, held on to the edge for dear life, the other resting on her upper arm.

“We really can skip this,” It wasn’t as dire as it felt but he lessened his hold at once, sighing collectively all of the breath he held before. His hand slid down to hold hers and it was warm in the way that shouldn’t have given him comfort. He wanted her to know he was appreciative, but he couldn’t form the words. He leaned forward and felt her warmth up close, keeping as much distance as his body could bear. “I’m not this useless usually.” He excused himself, feeling like a child who didn’t want to be clean, head down in defeat. Not wanting to rub her the wrong way even if his intentions were good, Des pulled his hand from her own and cupped it on his ribs. “I came out of the water so I’m good….God this is so fucking embarrassing.”

[desmondellis]

Without her knowing, he started to crack a smile under the stretch of removing his shirt. He heard her theatrical gasp and how she teased him again, wanting to laugh under the fabric. It was comical all of the alternatives she came up with when he denied her help. It had everything to do with what he lacked and less about her individually. If she knew all that he did maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to explain, but then she’d know the real him, and that was somehow worse.

He didn’t think she would linger long, steam already collecting in the air and disappearing on the ceiling, the mirror already fogging. It was the first* thing he felt he looked forward to, and maybe part of it was that with this at least he could do alone. He didn’t have to feel inadequate in how debilitating his recovery was, he didn’t have to come up with some excuse as to why he was so resistant to touch.

For the first time in the short time he’d been awake, Jazzmyn stuttered, voice unsure and dismissive. From what he knew of her, her words splayed out like endless generosity like she might be able to express her warmth through voice. She reached for some towels like she was in a hurry, no doubt from his voiced hesitation. He saw it happening before it did, the way her feet hit the floor and how moments later she would careen to the floor. In full health, he might have caught her fall but as of now, he was next to useless.

Still, he felt the shame of another instance of his helplessness and it pained him. Expecting a fight, Des narrowed all his focus into his body and how to mask the inevitable ache of lowering his body on his own. It would mean admitting he needed her help again and further than that, do next to nothing to alleviate her burden. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel bad.” He sighed, letting the breath veil itself as anything but a release of silent effort as he leaned down, bent on one knee, one arm extended to pick her up. Holding her weight on his end, he lifted her from the floor and avoided her elbows which by now would be sore. He didn’t pant or groan but his body was screaming to do so, all throughout his time holding her which felt much longer for him than it actually was.

When he did stand he wanted to do it less than he ever had in his whole life. Not wanting to seem anymore weak he tried to sit on the back end of the curved edge of the tub, but as he shifted on the ceramic he felt himself slipping. It was clumsy, a grunt falling from his mouth before he adjusted himself or she held on tight enough, whichever helped more. One of his hands, the free one, held on to the edge for dear life, the other resting on her upper arm.

“We really can skip this,” It wasn’t as dire as it felt but he lessened his hold at once, sighing collectively all of the breath he held before. His hand slid down to hold hers and it was warm in the way that shouldn’t have given him comfort. He wanted her to know he was appreciative, but he couldn’t form the words. He leaned forward and felt her warmth up close, keeping as much distance as his body could bear. “I’m not this useless usually.” He excused himself, feeling like a child who didn’t want to be clean, head down in defeat. Not wanting to rub her the wrong way even if his intentions were good, Des pulled his hand from her own and cupped it on his ribs. “I came out of the water so I’m good….God this is so fucking embarrassing.”

Had he not already shoved his foot in his mouth before, he was now. There was a significant effort not to interject and deny what she was asking from him. It was one thing to be taken care of, and another to sit in a bath and relax. That in and of itself felt foreign, giving up his last shred of control. As soon as what he said set in a smile stretched across her face, good as new. Whatever worried her before no longer did and he could see her mood shift in an instant.

Her face brightened, eyes smiling in tandem with her lips. For what it was worth, she’d undone him more than anyone had in as long as he could remember. Even her voice gave pause to his doubts and purpose to keep her spirits in place. She could never know his reasoning for suspicions and small lies, nor could she be burdened with the knowledge of who he was. She couldn’t possibly imagine how much ground she’d covered in such little time.

“I can see that.” If he had a problem with touch, it surely met it’s match with her. Jazzmyn had no problem with affection, like it came naturally and out through her fingers. She even tucked a few of his loose curls back into his mess of hair, the feeling leaving a sensation prickling down his back. Intent on making him go through what felt like his own personal torture, her feet were eager in their steps towards the bathroom where not seconds later he heard the rush of water filling a tub.

Finally, after quiet and careful breaths he found the strength to stand and walk, albeit slowly, to the bathroom where he thought she might have already left. There were some grunts and a few strained groans, but by the time he made it to the bathroom he suppressed them so she didn’t have to hear it. She was still there when he walked in, pulling some of the wet towels off his shoulders and starting to fold them.

“You really don’t have to stay for this, I’m sure I can do it myself.” The task itself was daunting, but the least she could do was leave it for him to suffer in silence. Instead of giving her the folded towels in hand, he placed them on the sink countertop and turned his back to her. When those layers had been shed he reached to pull his shirt off his body, which had actually become quite uncomfortable without the rest of the coverage. He kind of figured she would scuttle on out, but as he went to tug down on equally heavy, wet pants with a stifled grunt, he found her standing with her arms crossed. Something like she was expecting him to continue on, much like the lack of care she had to put her hands on him. “No we’re not.. this isn’t necessary, I can do this..” his eyes glanced over for a lifeline at the water, clear and warm, steam spinning on the surface. “There’s not even..bubbles.” He chuckled nervously.