"I am sure it will be a very successful evening, going into it in good spirits," he assures her, with a quiet huff of laughter. "So you needn't worry." He runs a finger along the ridge of her spine, through her shirt. "Thank you for this."
"I was going to thank you." For allowing her to be this close, where intentions could so easily go awry. She wants him, she always does, but she's satisfied with this closeness. This peace between them.
Is it worth risking the peace of this afternoon, the possibility of having just one good day that doesn't end in someone angry or someone hurt? If he swallows his thoughts down, maybe it can be. Then again, those thoughts still have to go somewhere in his body.
"I want us to talk more. I miss you. Your body is the easiest thing to reach for, I suppose, but I... I miss you. I miss discussing plans and hearing your thoughts and opinions on everything."
It's been awful feeling lonely when he's living in the same house.
"I feel similarly," he assures her. "I suppose part of why I've enjoyed today so much. Much as I enjoy making love with you, I confess it feels troubling when that's all it is."
He's said similarly before, in a moment of frustration. It hurt then, and it hurts now.
How terrible to feel that way. She'd never want that for him.
"Forgive me," she says, and she does push herself up to look at his face, meet his eyes. "You are so much more to me than that, Clive. My actions need to reflect that."
"I know it wasn't your intention," he says. It has hurt to be largely ignored but still reached for, and to be looked at with suspicion every time he comes home at an unexpected time, as though he could betray a person with no interest in having him. He looks at her, brow furrowed, sad. "I appreciate the apology just the same, Jill."
She wants to kiss him. It's that urge to show him, physically, what she feels rather than try and carefully collect words that used to come to easily with him.
She settles for gently pushing his hair from his forehead so she can lean down and kiss his brow, but words come with it.
Clive feels reluctant to agree that it hurt. It hurts her, clearly, to have to think about having done anything untoward to him, and he doesn't want that for her. But she cares for him, too, and that has to matter more. He looks up at her and nods.
"It did," he admits, anyway. It feels a little bit like wounding his own ego, but it's true. "Thank you. I forgive you."
Why, he wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, can't he make this work? Why can't he set aside everything else for her? He reaches up to cup her face, to thumb at the swell of her cheek.
Again, she doubts it. But she doesn't hold any resentment over it. Only sadness, but she doesn't wish for today to be sad. He loves her. That's what matters. She's fortunate to have that much.
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"Now, if your hunt is terrible, I will take back what I said," she jokes.
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"What for?" he asks. Nothing comes to mind.
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"For... your time. Your company, and letting me... be here, I suppose." In his bed, with him, when the lines are unclear.
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"Of course I do. My heart always wants me to be by your side."
Just pay no mind to the horny organs.
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He ventures, cautiously:
"You're not usually interested in talking."
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"Talking hasn't been easy between us for a long time."
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"I want us to talk more. I miss you. Your body is the easiest thing to reach for, I suppose, but I... I miss you. I miss discussing plans and hearing your thoughts and opinions on everything."
It's been awful feeling lonely when he's living in the same house.
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"I feel similarly," he assures her. "I suppose part of why I've enjoyed today so much. Much as I enjoy making love with you, I confess it feels troubling when that's all it is."
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How terrible to feel that way. She'd never want that for him.
"Forgive me," she says, and she does push herself up to look at his face, meet his eyes. "You are so much more to me than that, Clive. My actions need to reflect that."
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She settles for gently pushing his hair from his forehead so she can lean down and kiss his brow, but words come with it.
"It still hurt. It won't happen again."
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"It did," he admits, anyway. It feels a little bit like wounding his own ego, but it's true. "Thank you. I forgive you."
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"It's like breathing. I don't have to think about it."
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"It's second nature to both of us."
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"You have a big heart. I'm lucky to have a spot in it."
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“You’re the dearest thing in my life.”
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"And you, mine."
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“Lay with me a little while, then,” he says. “Let me hold you close to my heart.”
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"I'll never want to get up." But too late, she's already there.
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