She's making him be very specific and that is just so not his natural state. Decisive? Perhaps, but in certain situations. Actually no, specific isn't even incorrect either - he can be specific. He can be decisive, they're just. They're not what he defaults to - they're survival mechanisms.
That doesn't even make sense, but. Athos bends so far back on himself, thinks himself into corners and twists himself into knots, lets anxiety - occasionally - put a stone in his stomach and sink him to the bottom.
I'm stopping the poetry there, you get the gist.
But she wants - needs, actually, though, because he doesn't think she just wants this. Ever since he's known her he's not been too bad at understanding her and right now she's practically comprised of neon fucking signs. She needs clarity. She's not just asking or demanding it. So he gives it to her, finally. There is a sound from the back of his throat, deep in his chest, that she's never heard and he hasn't heard in a long time - not really a growl but the sort of sound that comes directly before a hard-won response. If that makes literally any sense at all.
"Yes." He pulls her closer towards himself, down against him, even while he turns his face up towards her enough to be close enough to her face for the breath and warmth of their words to register on each others' cheeks. She has her hands in his hair, her fingers at his ports, and he has his breath on her skin, her weight against his hardness. "Yes, I want you." Maybe against the wall here in a minute, maybe just however you want him - he's got preferences but. Well.
u always kno best
That doesn't even make sense, but. Athos bends so far back on himself, thinks himself into corners and twists himself into knots, lets anxiety - occasionally - put a stone in his stomach and sink him to the bottom.
I'm stopping the poetry there, you get the gist.
But she wants - needs, actually, though, because he doesn't think she just wants this. Ever since he's known her he's not been too bad at understanding her and right now she's practically comprised of neon fucking signs. She needs clarity. She's not just asking or demanding it. So he gives it to her, finally. There is a sound from the back of his throat, deep in his chest, that she's never heard and he hasn't heard in a long time - not really a growl but the sort of sound that comes directly before a hard-won response. If that makes literally any sense at all.
"Yes." He pulls her closer towards himself, down against him, even while he turns his face up towards her enough to be close enough to her face for the breath and warmth of their words to register on each others' cheeks. She has her hands in his hair, her fingers at his ports, and he has his breath on her skin, her weight against his hardness. "Yes, I want you." Maybe against the wall here in a minute, maybe just however you want him - he's got preferences but. Well.