[It's always a little difficult to believe that there is, in fact, a certain strength and support in this. We all need something, but we can all provide something too — we're all strong in our own ways; that was a lesson it'd taken a stay in school to learn, when for so long she'd thought that strength and agency were things that belonged to someone else, and her lot in life was simply to cling to the coattails of the ones who had it.
It's strange that this works, that it turns out the one thing Dave needs and craves is something she knows she can provide, and that she herself derives strength from offering him. His powers are unfathomable, his determination unprecedented, his loyalty unbreakable — and there are still times when she is his knight and not the other way around, and she can defend him by loving him when he needs it most.
Breathtaking.
So she keeps her fingers moving easily through his hair, keeps his head cradled in her hands, and lets him kiss her awhile before taking back the lead, making sure his forehead and brow and cheek aren't left unkissed as well.]
I'll borrow your letter sweater and they can all work it out for themselves.
[It's a reference she only gets mostly right, still with a few very slight flaws in the execution, but a joke doesn't have to be perfect to be what's needed, anyway.]
I'm okay, too. Not...not so scared that I can't still be okay. It's not perfect, far from it, but it's...getting easier to be okay all the time. Is what I mean.
[A soft, pleased noise warbles out of his throat when, once again, Meridiana takes charge of their direction. It's a surprise and a delight every time, because normally he's the one, starved for touch, to rub his nose in her hair, to insinuate himself into her space like a needy cat, to ask wordlessly to play with her hand.
He's like that because Meridiana likes it, because she likes to know she's loved, revels in the freedom to touch, and it amazes him to be able to give her that, to convey feeling towards her with fingers or lips. And he knows she's the same, that she's touchy, too, but more polite about it; this, right here, has nothing to do with polite.
And Dave fucking adores it. Her. He laughs breathlessly, forgetting his earlier discomfort with their subject of conversation as she peppers his face with kisses, and lets his hands slip up to rest on her back, neither pushing nor pulling. He closes his eyes for real, face tilted towards her, a heliotrope.]
Uh-huh. Yeah. That, me too.
[He's so utterly lost for her. Good thing she'll always know how to find him. He lifts one hand to brush along the edge of her curls, to let a lock of hair glide between his fingers.]
Definitely more okay than before. Warming up to further okayness. Hey, am I always this easy to persuade. It's okay, you can tell me. Happy to own it.
[And she does know him well. Certainly well enough to know what to look for in the little nuances of his inflection and his word choices — the lazy way the questioning part of his questions seems to slide off of the end of his sentences; the way his thoughts grow shorter and more clipped, sometimes missing words here and there that these days she never has any difficulty with filling in.
(In his best moments, Dave's spoken word looks precisely the way his bold red text does. It's one of the things that made adapting to the notion of texting come to her as easily as it did — the fact that she could look at the words in front of her, and know exactly how his voice would sound if he were saying them to her instead.)
Dave on guard versus Dave relaxed isn't a matter of hard versus soft, so much. No, if she had to try to put it into words, she'd sooner say that when Dave relaxes, it's like watching color run a little bit at the edges, like a candle melting from the proximity of light and heat, still put-together but a little easier to leave fingerprints in than before.]
But yes. You're terribly easy to persuade. Why, I rather almost think you'd give me anything I could ever ask for, if only I asked for it like this. As though I could wish for the moon and you'd pull it down from the sky to present it to me.
[One of her hands skims down from his hair, tracing over his shoulder to rest against his heart.]
Really, I rather almost think I could wish for the last brownie in the pan and you'd let me have it without a fuss, when you're like this.
[He leans back a little to look at her, mouth half-open to protest, but he gets caught staring at her eyes, the curve of his mouth, for long enough that he forgets what he was going to say.]
Oh no, you're right, fuckkk. Meridiana.
[He slumps back again, defeated, but the corners of his eyes are scrunched with laughter held in, breathy under his whining and wheedling. Lightly, he runs his hand up to hers, lines his fingers up with her between-finger spaces without trapping her. Just following her lines.]
Promise. You can't use your power for evil. You'll make a really hot supervillain but I won't match at all, I don't look good in bad guy palettes, they're all cool colors and greens and I just can't work it.
I always rather wonder about those supervillainesses, you know, in the movies and such. Shoes with heels that high can't possibly be comfortable, and if they're already the heads of their villainous organizations and whatnot as it is, why shouldn't they be allowed to wear whatever shoes they so please?
[This is what the future has done to her. Look out, world, Film Critic Meridiana Everett is here to judge your high-heeled supervillainess shoes and PVC leotards.]
Black would be all right, though, I should think. Aren't black and red suitable villain colors? So, a nice black suit with red piping, perhaps, that'd match wonderfully and be just in line with your style.
[Dave makes a show of his serious consideration, then nods firmly and buries his face comfortably in her collarbone.]
'S cool then, our potential partnership in villainy. [Because the #aesthetic was his only concern.] Maybe that's what we should've asked the cards about, if crime really nets you better benefits. Dental. Paid vacation. What have you.
[He looks up, eyes sparkling a moment.]
Oh my god, you'd be my boss. Workplace relationship. Scandalous.
Really! Is that how it is, it's a workplace relationship that's scandalous, now?
[As opposed to, say, this scandalous cuddling they're doing right now, which is positively rife with iniquity and vice. Obviously.]
...You know, when you put it that way, it does cast a rather different light on the usual knight and lady relationship, doesn't it. If he's performing a service to her, that would make her his employer of sorts, wouldn't it? My goodness.
Volunteerism, I think. Dunno. Might depend on the monetary worth of her token and whether she gifts them as regular wages, though you could make an argument for hankies being standard office supply.
[Office supplies. Sexy.]
Now, if the lady were the queen, on the other hand. Kind of a different dynamic then, yeah?
[He does work his fingers through hers for a moment, but changes his grip and brings her knuckles to his lips while he watches her face.]
[You want to talk about direct hits, now that's one that lands on her with almost the same magnitude as the brownies had on Dave. As glad as she is to be from London, there are some things that will never wholly fade, and it turns out that this is one of them: those dreams of having a title in front of her name, those summer days playing with Elise in the garden and dreaming of wealth and rank and parties and love.
Queen Meridiana. The ring of it pales only slightly next to Queen Victoria, but of course a name that itself means victory is a hard act to follow by anything.
Her eyes fall halfway closed; her long lashes fringe heavy where they frame them. Your Majesty, he says, and chases it with a touch of his lips to her hand.
When he says it, she could really make herself believe it, folly though she knows full well it it.]
[He observes the change in her expression with interest, then weaves his fingers loosely through hers, bouncing their joined hands lightly from side to side, softly playful.]
When we're done here, do you want to build a pillow castle. We'll make you a crown and everything; you'll be Queen of the world.
[He can't think of a better way to spend a sleepless night like this, two frightened children in a strange, dark city. Playing games. Creating worlds. It's all he was ever made for, building towers and pretending at adulthood.
He leans towards her more, touching his nose to hers.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's strange that this works, that it turns out the one thing Dave needs and craves is something she knows she can provide, and that she herself derives strength from offering him. His powers are unfathomable, his determination unprecedented, his loyalty unbreakable — and there are still times when she is his knight and not the other way around, and she can defend him by loving him when he needs it most.
Breathtaking.
So she keeps her fingers moving easily through his hair, keeps his head cradled in her hands, and lets him kiss her awhile before taking back the lead, making sure his forehead and brow and cheek aren't left unkissed as well.]
I'll borrow your letter sweater and they can all work it out for themselves.
[It's a reference she only gets mostly right, still with a few very slight flaws in the execution, but a joke doesn't have to be perfect to be what's needed, anyway.]
I'm okay, too. Not...not so scared that I can't still be okay. It's not perfect, far from it, but it's...getting easier to be okay all the time. Is what I mean.
no subject
He's like that because Meridiana likes it, because she likes to know she's loved, revels in the freedom to touch, and it amazes him to be able to give her that, to convey feeling towards her with fingers or lips. And he knows she's the same, that she's touchy, too, but more polite about it; this, right here, has nothing to do with polite.
And Dave fucking adores it. Her. He laughs breathlessly, forgetting his earlier discomfort with their subject of conversation as she peppers his face with kisses, and lets his hands slip up to rest on her back, neither pushing nor pulling. He closes his eyes for real, face tilted towards her, a heliotrope.]
Uh-huh. Yeah. That, me too.
[He's so utterly lost for her. Good thing she'll always know how to find him. He lifts one hand to brush along the edge of her curls, to let a lock of hair glide between his fingers.]
Definitely more okay than before. Warming up to further okayness. Hey, am I always this easy to persuade. It's okay, you can tell me. Happy to own it.
no subject
[And she does know him well. Certainly well enough to know what to look for in the little nuances of his inflection and his word choices — the lazy way the questioning part of his questions seems to slide off of the end of his sentences; the way his thoughts grow shorter and more clipped, sometimes missing words here and there that these days she never has any difficulty with filling in.
(In his best moments, Dave's spoken word looks precisely the way his bold red text does. It's one of the things that made adapting to the notion of texting come to her as easily as it did — the fact that she could look at the words in front of her, and know exactly how his voice would sound if he were saying them to her instead.)
Dave on guard versus Dave relaxed isn't a matter of hard versus soft, so much. No, if she had to try to put it into words, she'd sooner say that when Dave relaxes, it's like watching color run a little bit at the edges, like a candle melting from the proximity of light and heat, still put-together but a little easier to leave fingerprints in than before.]
But yes. You're terribly easy to persuade. Why, I rather almost think you'd give me anything I could ever ask for, if only I asked for it like this. As though I could wish for the moon and you'd pull it down from the sky to present it to me.
[One of her hands skims down from his hair, tracing over his shoulder to rest against his heart.]
Really, I rather almost think I could wish for the last brownie in the pan and you'd let me have it without a fuss, when you're like this.
no subject
[He leans back a little to look at her, mouth half-open to protest, but he gets caught staring at her eyes, the curve of his mouth, for long enough that he forgets what he was going to say.]
Oh no, you're right, fuckkk. Meridiana.
[He slumps back again, defeated, but the corners of his eyes are scrunched with laughter held in, breathy under his whining and wheedling. Lightly, he runs his hand up to hers, lines his fingers up with her between-finger spaces without trapping her. Just following her lines.]
Promise. You can't use your power for evil. You'll make a really hot supervillain but I won't match at all, I don't look good in bad guy palettes, they're all cool colors and greens and I just can't work it.
no subject
[This is what the future has done to her. Look out, world, Film Critic Meridiana Everett is here to judge your high-heeled supervillainess shoes and PVC leotards.]
Black would be all right, though, I should think. Aren't black and red suitable villain colors? So, a nice black suit with red piping, perhaps, that'd match wonderfully and be just in line with your style.
no subject
[Dave makes a show of his serious consideration, then nods firmly and buries his face comfortably in her collarbone.]
'S cool then, our potential partnership in villainy. [Because the #aesthetic was his only concern.] Maybe that's what we should've asked the cards about, if crime really nets you better benefits. Dental. Paid vacation. What have you.
[He looks up, eyes sparkling a moment.]
Oh my god, you'd be my boss. Workplace relationship. Scandalous.
no subject
[As opposed to, say, this scandalous cuddling they're doing right now, which is positively rife with iniquity and vice. Obviously.]
...You know, when you put it that way, it does cast a rather different light on the usual knight and lady relationship, doesn't it. If he's performing a service to her, that would make her his employer of sorts, wouldn't it? My goodness.
no subject
[Office supplies. Sexy.]
Now, if the lady were the queen, on the other hand. Kind of a different dynamic then, yeah?
[He does work his fingers through hers for a moment, but changes his grip and brings her knuckles to his lips while he watches her face.]
I could work with that. Your Majesty.
no subject
[You want to talk about direct hits, now that's one that lands on her with almost the same magnitude as the brownies had on Dave. As glad as she is to be from London, there are some things that will never wholly fade, and it turns out that this is one of them: those dreams of having a title in front of her name, those summer days playing with Elise in the garden and dreaming of wealth and rank and parties and love.
Queen Meridiana. The ring of it pales only slightly next to Queen Victoria, but of course a name that itself means victory is a hard act to follow by anything.
Her eyes fall halfway closed; her long lashes fringe heavy where they frame them. Your Majesty, he says, and chases it with a touch of his lips to her hand.
When he says it, she could really make herself believe it, folly though she knows full well it it.]
Y...Yes. A-A very different dynamic, indeed...
no subject
When we're done here, do you want to build a pillow castle. We'll make you a crown and everything; you'll be Queen of the world.
[He can't think of a better way to spend a sleepless night like this, two frightened children in a strange, dark city. Playing games. Creating worlds. It's all he was ever made for, building towers and pretending at adulthood.
He leans towards her more, touching his nose to hers.]
And I can play knight or dragon. Up to you.