[ Maybe there are moments when she seems untouchable, even godlike — on the battlefield, covered in blood and gore, baring her teeth in a jagged smile that says her enemy should have tried harder, that they had their chance, and now it's her turn. Her small figure belies the raw violence she's capable of, even with her bare hands alone, and the long centuries she's survived in this galaxy have only taught her more ways to be cruel in a fight. But there's none of that now. She's not untouchable now — not invulnerable, not even to that scant touch, just the simple brush of his thumb against her breast, coaxing out a faintly wavering exhale from her parted lips.
She's as vulnerable as she ever is. The vastness of her years gives her no advantage — she hesitates just the same as he does, half uncertain how to be with the one person in the universe that she's always found it natural to be with. Some part of her almost doesn't want to be seen — this body, which has been hers for so long, almost to the point of detachment, she suddenly feels keenly aware of it, how it must look to someone who's never seen a woman's body bare before. All her battle scars, all her hard lines, contrasted to the curve of her waist, the softness of her small breasts. Is she beautiful? Can he mean that when she's the only woman he's ever known this way?
But maybe those questions are just excuses. Excuses for the part of her that always wants to run away, to avoid the things that will make her love them more — as if that matters, when she's here already. When she's promised to stay. When she spends her every waking moment at the side of one man or the other. When her wanting for them is a physical ache she feels so poignantly now, a heat in her gut that swells at the mere sound of Rex's voice. ]
You don't have to flatter me. [ She answers wryly, deflecting as if that might hide the slight unsteadiness in her hands as she reaches again for his wrists, urging his hands to her body, to touch her more fully than the light brush of a fingertip. ] I'm already in love with you.
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She's as vulnerable as she ever is. The vastness of her years gives her no advantage — she hesitates just the same as he does, half uncertain how to be with the one person in the universe that she's always found it natural to be with. Some part of her almost doesn't want to be seen — this body, which has been hers for so long, almost to the point of detachment, she suddenly feels keenly aware of it, how it must look to someone who's never seen a woman's body bare before. All her battle scars, all her hard lines, contrasted to the curve of her waist, the softness of her small breasts. Is she beautiful? Can he mean that when she's the only woman he's ever known this way?
But maybe those questions are just excuses. Excuses for the part of her that always wants to run away, to avoid the things that will make her love them more — as if that matters, when she's here already. When she's promised to stay. When she spends her every waking moment at the side of one man or the other. When her wanting for them is a physical ache she feels so poignantly now, a heat in her gut that swells at the mere sound of Rex's voice. ]
You don't have to flatter me. [ She answers wryly, deflecting as if that might hide the slight unsteadiness in her hands as she reaches again for his wrists, urging his hands to her body, to touch her more fully than the light brush of a fingertip. ] I'm already in love with you.