It couldn't become any clearer than the moment Tseng leans in - just so - and brings his hand up. Sephiroth is prepared for the touch-- or so he's fooled himself into thinking. Because then Tseng's thumb is tracing a line across his cheek, and suddenly Sephiroth is the one catching himself from leaning against it. He'd forgotten how intoxicating it feels, the warmth of someone else's skin against his own. Intimacy is largely a foreign concept to him, and this--
Alarming.
How quickly it overtakes him-- a swell of comfort and delight blooming in his ribs, the thrum of excitement crackling through his veins. Even Sephiroth's impeccable control falters from time to time, and for just a moment, his eyes draw shut with the faintest flutter of his eyelashes. In any other circumstance, he would be grounded immediately by it. He'd begin slamming walls back into place, retreating behind the forbidding veneer-- and he's aware that he should.
He is also aware that he has no desire to do so.]
Hm. [A thoughtful and almost melodic hum...] Am I to infer that - under normal circumstances - you simply take what you desire, then?
[Somewhere along the course of Sephiroth's words, his own hand has drifted up, finding Tseng's wrist. He uses it as leverage, pressing Tseng's palm flat against his cheek. Gradually, his fingers trail up the back of the Turk's hand, wandering into the dips between his knuckles-- almost as if he's savoring the sensation of it. After all... he can't recall the last time he's touched another person without the barrier of gloves himself. And he holds it there - Tseng's hand - when he broaches the distance between them, bringing them nose-to-nose. His eyes, vibrant with curiosity and something terribly close to hunger, are still locked on Tseng's.]
no subject
It couldn't become any clearer than the moment Tseng leans in - just so - and brings his hand up. Sephiroth is prepared for the touch-- or so he's fooled himself into thinking. Because then Tseng's thumb is tracing a line across his cheek, and suddenly Sephiroth is the one catching himself from leaning against it. He'd forgotten how intoxicating it feels, the warmth of someone else's skin against his own. Intimacy is largely a foreign concept to him, and this--
Alarming.
How quickly it overtakes him-- a swell of comfort and delight blooming in his ribs, the thrum of excitement crackling through his veins. Even Sephiroth's impeccable control falters from time to time, and for just a moment, his eyes draw shut with the faintest flutter of his eyelashes. In any other circumstance, he would be grounded immediately by it. He'd begin slamming walls back into place, retreating behind the forbidding veneer-- and he's aware that he should.
He is also aware that he has no desire to do so.]
Hm. [A thoughtful and almost melodic hum...] Am I to infer that - under normal circumstances - you simply take what you desire, then?
[Somewhere along the course of Sephiroth's words, his own hand has drifted up, finding Tseng's wrist. He uses it as leverage, pressing Tseng's palm flat against his cheek. Gradually, his fingers trail up the back of the Turk's hand, wandering into the dips between his knuckles-- almost as if he's savoring the sensation of it. After all... he can't recall the last time he's touched another person without the barrier of gloves himself. And he holds it there - Tseng's hand - when he broaches the distance between them, bringing them nose-to-nose. His eyes, vibrant with curiosity and something terribly close to hunger, are still locked on Tseng's.]
Show me.