( on one hand, her sick horny brain has to give a moment of appreciation to the thought of paul controlling her pleasure. on the other hand, shamelessly, pathetically immediate: )
I didn't say THAT. Let's not put words in my mouth. I hear orgasms are meant to be a natural pain reliever, you know. Very scientific research was involved. Please make me come, Paul Atreides-Starkov. You're the only one who can cure me. :(
I've asked, and if you're nice to her, Sankta Alina says she'll give you anything you want. Sticking your fingers in his mouth should shut him up. That always works when you do it to me.
I think he sounds like he loved you very much. I wish I could have met him. I wish our children could. But I know the best parts of him live on in you, and no one — Bene Gesserit or otherwise — can take those from you. Our children wouldn't just inherit your power. They inherit your father's lessons, and his love. I could never resent what you are, anyway. Your oddness makes my strangeness feel less strange. And less lonely.
Hm. Okay. ( not true!!! but ) But you're prettier.
You'd say a good husband would give you orgasms, then?
Alina, you're going to make me blush.
( """going to""" hahaha )
He would've loved you. He was always very generous with his compassion, always kind when cruelty was easier. He probably would've called you his daughter. ( unlike paul's mother who, at best, tolerates alina. at worst, actively plots to separate them. her christmas gifts are still a sore spot for him. ) And our children will inherit your guile, and your strength, and most importantly, your presence. You know, I could show him to you. A memory of him at least, if you wanted to see what he was like. It might feel a little invasive, though. You can say no.
Alina. Please. That could not be further from true.
I'd say a good wife lets her husband make her come whenever he wants, as often as he wants. You can make em wait for it, if you want. So you can take your time tasting me. I can be patient.
( as if she won't whine and cry in protest, but there's something to be said for the war between her own neediness and her undeservingness. )
Let's hope they don't have any need for guile. That's only a skill you learn when you need it to survive. How invasive? It isn't like
( alia, who had stuck her fingers in alina's brain with all of the innocence of a child swiping frosting from a cake, unaware it would feel like another violation. it feels wrong to say as much, like an immediate condemnation, so: )
It wouldn't be painful, would it? The last few times I had someone in my head, it wasn't a good experience. PS: Sorry you apparently have no eyes or mirrors to see the truth with, but that doesn't make it UNtrue.
Can you? ( x to doubt ) I'd like to see that. It's settled, then.
No, it won't hurt. It'll be more like a movie we watch together, but in your mind where I put it. I won't go digging for anything, I'll just be leaving a little something behind. Maybe I could do something very small, like a picture instead of a memory, and see if it's okay for you? Otherwise, if the Library ever opens back up I'll see if I can get a drawing of him.
( man with ingrained technology trauma forgets pictures are a thing for a second )
PS: The Kwisatz Haderach does see all, including his beautiful wife.
( so. patient by obligation, maybe, and her own big dumb mouth. )
Just a movie? Or do I feel as you feel? It should be okay, I think. As long as you're gentle about it. Warn me, before you do it. You're on my mind all the time already, so ... I'd like to try. I trust you not to take advantage.
PS: As a god in my own right and of my own religion, I'm choosing to overrule the Kwisatz Haderach. From here on out, all of your arguments against my gospel (that Paul Atreides is, in fact, prettiest) will be labeled as heresy to Ravka's religion.
I suppose you'll have to take what I give you, and not come before you're allowed.
( sweating, pausing two seconds to see if he's going to be yelled at, carrying on )
You'll know my thoughts and feelings at that time, but you won't be me in the memory. You'll be watching it from a third perspective. It might feel confusing, but it shouldn't be hard to separate between the two of us. I'll be there to help you. If it is too much, you can tell me and I will end the memory.
PS: What is the punishment for heresy, my goddess?
Yes ( her fingers fumble. paul and husband — tried and true. sir reminds her too vividly of army days, prostrating herself before authority figures. she chews on her blunt fingernails, closing her eyes against her own embarrassment, when she settles on: ) Daddy. I'll try not to be greedy.
( too soon, maybe, in the wake of the past week of her erratic behavior. but it's there in the ether now, alina tiptoeing curiously. )
Knowing you'll be there helps more than you know. I don't mind if it is too much. I'd rather be overwhelmed by a good memory than a poor one.
PS: I've heard it involves a lot of kneeling, begging for mercy, and a test to prove you're very, very sorry for your sins and serious about repenting.
( an easier admittance with the boundary of phone screens between them. it's not the kink part that gives him pause — more, a question left open in the ether, a burgeoning shame, is it okay to enjoy something that has so recently harmed you? if alina is his patron saint, then this is his confessional. he's sure she will steer him right if he's on the wrong path, as any goddess would. )
It will be a good memory, that I can promise. Most of my memories of my father are good.
I like calling you that. ( still, on the heels of perpetual second-guessing: ) It's not strange?
( is anything strange ever too strange for paul atreides? she's beginning to have her doubts. )
Okay. If you loved him, I'm sure I will, too.
PS: Such auspicious timing. 🤔 Surely it must be a coincidence. Do you have any other offenses to confess, Paul? I want to be certain the severity of your punishment matches your trespasses.
No, not to me. You want to know something? I really like you. I think you could call me anything, and I'd answer.
I did. And I do, still.
PS: I'm sure I can come up with something, if my penance is as rewarding as kneeling between your legs.
( he actually types and sends that right outside the door, but waits a few proprietary seconds before letting himself in. so alina can read it firstly, and then a few extra seconds so she doesn't think it strange he didn't just — say it in person. which he might've, if he thought about it.
regardless, he enters in the room, and it becomes apparent why coming back to her took so long — in one hand he has a wrapped bouquet of iris flowers, a tray tucked under his arm. the tray is technically for kettlewing, who is instead making paul look particularly pregnant, tucked into the wide pocket of his hoodie which was the only thing that stopped him crying. in any case, paul drops the flowers on her bedside table, along with his phone, reaching a hand out to push back her sweaty hair, bending to press a kiss on her forehead. )
Hi. ( sitting, he shuffles kettlewing out of his pocket, who looks about ready to start wailing again, before paul presses him carefully to alina's side. he's warm from a recent brew, it might help her cramps if her stomach's hurting. ) He's full of broth right now. No, um. No vegetables or anything.
( because that feels a little gross, but if he said that out loud, the tears would probably start up again. in any case. paul also pulls out a bag of gummy worms from the pocket, and tossing them beside her on the bed. he keeps one hand on her head, thumbing her temple, idly checking her temperature. )
( better now that you're here is a cliche that has no place existing outside of her bodice rippers, but it isn't untrue. bedrest is a return to form alina resents more than the ill shiver that ravages through her, unwelcome nostalgia in staringly forlornly at the ceiling, wishing she was healthy enough for — anything, really. to be a normal girl doing normal-girl things, most of all, and not the sick little orphan who looks one bad gust of wind away from certain death. self-pity and boredom are easy to exile as her familiar bedfellows, with paul to take their space.
fever-bright eyes blink back at him, like big jewels embedded on a dopey, delirious smile. it's infinitely better than keramzin's treatment plan already — no one had ever brought flowers to beautify her bedside, when alina's limbs were too weak to carry her to the meadow. mostly, they'd just let her be, like a soul destined for a tomb. )
A little. ( her head lolls as she nuzzles into his palm, forehead clammy. the thing about sickness, when you're a furnace of warmth — alina's skin is concerningly cool and shivery, as if touched by an invisible draft. his little squak of indignation doesn't stop alina from rectifying it by squirming to curl around kettlewing, forced to play the role of heating pad and stuffed animal alike, as he nests into her stomach. ) I have a very attentive nurse, you see. He's hard at work curing me.
( she inhales deeply, lets the delicate scent of iris stick sweetly in her lungs. her stomach is still a twisting vortex, but alina's hand crinkles the bag of gummy worms under her fingertips, anyway, working at opening it with weak, distracted fingers. her other hand tugs at his sweatshirt, equally pitiful in strength. )
Thank you. ( sweetly, if not a clear delay in remembering proper manners. ) Will you lie with me?
( he smiles at her, ever fond, paul's small and shy smile that he reserves for moments like these — when he heart is full, and alina's being cute, and he has no idea what to do with all the emotion in his chest but flush happily about it. his fingers thread through her hair, a little dirty but still silky smooth, and he pushes it behind her ear, so he can stroke the bend of her jaw, thinking about kissing her everywhere.
a nod of assent then, drawing his hand down her shoulder, comfortingly. )
Yeah. I'll just change.
( the sweater, mostly saved from kettlewing's salty bouillon tears gets left on the foot of the bed in case alina gets the chills. it's shortly followed by his wet, gross shirt, which paul puts in its rightful place in the hamper. he fusses around a little, stealing a mug full of paint water from alina's painting area, dumping and filling it with fresh water, trimming the irises swiftly down to size before setting them inside in an artful display. all in all it takes less than a minute for him to slide into bed beside her, propped up a little higher on the pillows to pull her into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder, an arm down over her back. kettlewing is a hot compress almost smushed between them, but paul doesn't mind, sighing contentedly to his weird, porcelain birdy sounds. )
( abandoned, discarded things don't stay without an owner for very long, in alina's presence. squirmy, she shifts out of paul's embrace for the thirty second struggle of slipping his sweater over her head. there isn't too much of extra, spooling fabric — paul is barely bigger than she is, longer twiggy arms that make it easy for alina to curl her fingers into the inside of a sleeve, huddling into it with the hope of it swallowing her whole. much the same with the blankets she's been hoarding diligently, as her makeshift fortress — keeping her sickness inside, keeping the embarrassing memories and unwanted visitors from intruding on her.
it just so happen that every visitor is an unwanted interloper on the list, except for paul. and, by association: kettlewing, who is making a stream of high-pitched squeaks that either mean he's brewing, or snoring and asleep. both, potentially. )
No. ( yes. ) I still think a hole in the ground would be more comfortable.
( dramatically, she flips back down, strength spent on that one simple task. messily, her hair spills out against paul's shoulder, into his face, with little regard, as she burrows back into his (bony) shoulder. the gummy bears — still tragically unopened — get pressed into paul's chest. husband duties require opening up jars, and stupid plastic bags when your clammy fingers won't cooperate. )
Do mice hibernate for winter? ( nerdy paul atreides will surely know. alina frowns, thoughtful. ) We should do that.
( how rude. paul huffs a laugh, small and genuine, paternally smoothing alina's hair back down her skull, twisting the ends around the knuckles of his first two fingers, braiding it like a ring around him. he wonders what alina's expression would look like, if he asked for a lock of her hair to have on him always — he imagines equal parts wry and endeared, and smiles dumbly at himself, tilting his head down to nose into her hairline.
he also wasn't listening, so it takes a second to play catch-up in the conversation. then, on auto-pilot — )
They don't. Zapodidae do though, and they're a little like the kangaroo mice of Arrakis.
( responsibly, he picks up her offered goodies and tears open the pull tab of the plastic, more than a little amused she couldn't do that much — but also a little warm and soft and humbled he gets to take care of her even in the small, silly ways. he fingers through lesser flavors at the top of the bag and picks out a strawberry pink bear, holding it in front of alina's mouth for her to eat. he gets another one ready for her, whenever she wants it, pinched between his pointer and thumb finger.
and, since he imagines he'll have to be the one to broach the subject, he injects it a little clumsily, )
Oh, of course. How could I forget the illustrious — ( her cough-scratched voice drops into childish, haughty mimicry. ) "Zapodidae".
( sometimes, she's struck by a suspicion that paul would happily read an encyclopedia back to front, and miraculously retain room for it in his brain. that's fine with alina — it's nice, for a change, to not be expected to have answers for every single question that crosses her desk. no need to undergo the metamorphosis resculpt had tried to cocoon her in, like larvae not yet ready to emerge, no need to be — better than what her raw form is. so, she's not the brightest lantern in the room. so, her knowledge doesn't illuminate every corner of what there is to know of the world. she can pluck her know-it-all paul from a shelf and flip through his pages, completing her where she's incomplete.
endeared, she nips the ends of his fingertips as she retrieves the sugary bear from him, all scraping and indelicate teeth. the next, too, more like a pampered housecat than she'd like to admit — if she isn't careful, she'll forget how to use her claws, a domesticated and dependent wretch. )
It's been ten minutes. Was I meant to run away? ( she squints through her chewing, which quickly progresses to the distracting task of sucking on paul's fingers, knowing there's no trace of gelatin stuck to them. some tangible proof, maybe, that her limbs are loose — that she isn't tensing to bolt, now that he's cornered her. now that the threat of having his mind meld into hers like water pouring into a vase is inescapably real. her heart spasms in her chest, a trained impulse against the thought of invasion. still, she presses a kiss to the cool marble of his hands, before draping them over a cheek. ) I promise I'm okay. Just — guide me through it, while you're doing it.
( aleksander had never warned her before ripping her open. neither had alia, before tiptoeing in uninvited. it might be nice to hear him knocking at the door, asking her aloud to let him in, making himself known not as an intruder but a guest. )
( he blushes, teased, but happy for it, acting the part of an abruptly feral animal to snuffle and snort at her, bending down and nipping at her cheek. it's easy them, to bully alina onto her back, paul maneuvering like a warm breeze over dunes to slide between her legs, propped up on his knees, catching kettlewing by his back before he can splash hot soup all over alina and the bed. the bird gets resettled against her side, paul shrugging while he positions her knees on his hips, caging him in. )
Maybe. Well — not running away, but changing your mind is allowed. It's still allowed.
( hands curve over her bony knees, sliding down the tops of her freckled thighs, landing at her hips, loosely covered by lazy sleep shorts. paul edges up the hem of his sweatshirt, just enough to stroke his thumbs against her stomach, wondering if he might be able to cash in his learning ravkan reward now, after all. well — nowish. first things first. )
You know ... Okay. Imagine a hard-boiled egg. ( he gives her a look. ) Just stick with me. You know, if you push your thumb against it, there's some give, but when you take your thumb away there's no imprint. In this case, your mind is the hard boiled egg, and my memory is the thumb. It'll fill a gap, long enough for both of us to see it, and when it ends, it'll just be you again. ( cozying down, he props his chin up between her breasts, weight distributed down her middle, a little like an oversized cat finding the most comfortable and inconvenient spot to lounge on. ) Okay?
( not distinctly true — for one, alina would liken her brain to a soupy broth, at the moment, overheated from fever. for another, cracking open her skull runs the risk of having it all pour out into the basin of his palms, alina-shaped chunks flavored with — something more, something other. it's never been just her, alone in her head; even now, she can sense the hum of the amplifiers, a constant static she barely notices anymore. the seawhip coiled defensively around her brainstem, filled with righteous anger. morozova's stag looms watchfully, a protective guardian in the sacred grove of her thoguhts.
not for the first time, she finds herself grateful she's a pliant puddle of limbs under paul's lean body. less of a risk their minds clash rather than meld like a runny yolk. she squirms and stretches up into him, spurts of puffy exhales at his fingers teasing the ticklish skin of her belly, dangling in that dreamy void between sleepiness and consciousness. lazily, her toes dangle and draw down the backs of his legs, a softspun hum in her throat. a finger trails down the bridge of his nose, tapping freckles in her mental count. one, two, three, before she loses focus and has to start the process again. )
I don't mind you in my gaps. ( pun intentional, judging from the bleary, tranquil smile on her face. it's nice thought, isn't it? to be filled in all places, mind and body and soul. she lifts a hand, carding it through his curls, nails raking against his cat, like scratching a beloved cat under its chin. ) But I should warn you it won't only be me. I don't know how ... different my mind might feel, to you, but my power knows you're no threat. I won't let it harm you.
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I didn't say THAT. Let's not put words in my mouth.
I hear orgasms are meant to be a natural pain reliever, you know. Very scientific research was involved.
Please make me come, Paul Atreides-Starkov. You're the only one who can cure me. :(
I've asked, and if you're nice to her, Sankta Alina says she'll give you anything you want.
Sticking your fingers in his mouth should shut him up. That always works when you do it to me.
I think he sounds like he loved you very much. I wish I could have met him. I wish our children could.
But I know the best parts of him live on in you, and no one — Bene Gesserit or otherwise — can take those from you.
Our children wouldn't just inherit your power. They inherit your father's lessons, and his love.
I could never resent what you are, anyway. Your oddness makes my strangeness feel less strange. And less lonely.
Hm. Okay. ( not true!!! but ) But you're prettier.
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Alina, you're going to make me blush.
( """going to""" hahaha )
He would've loved you. He was always very generous with his compassion, always kind when cruelty was easier. He probably would've called you his daughter. ( unlike paul's mother who, at best, tolerates alina. at worst, actively plots to separate them. her christmas gifts are still a sore spot for him. ) And our children will inherit your guile, and your strength, and most importantly, your presence.
You know, I could show him to you. A memory of him at least, if you wanted to see what he was like.
It might feel a little invasive, though. You can say no.
Alina. Please. That could not be further from true.
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You can make em wait for it, if you want. So you can take your time tasting me. I can be patient.
( as if she won't whine and cry in protest, but there's something to be said for the war between her own neediness and her undeservingness. )
Let's hope they don't have any need for guile. That's only a skill you learn when you need it to survive.
How invasive? It isn't like
( alia, who had stuck her fingers in alina's brain with all of the innocence of a child swiping frosting from a cake, unaware it would feel like another violation. it feels wrong to say as much, like an immediate condemnation, so: )
It wouldn't be painful, would it? The last few times I had someone in my head, it wasn't a good experience.
PS: Sorry you apparently have no eyes or mirrors to see the truth with, but that doesn't make it UNtrue.
no subject
No, it won't hurt. It'll be more like a movie we watch together, but in your mind where I put it. I won't go digging for anything, I'll just be leaving a little something behind.
Maybe I could do something very small, like a picture instead of a memory, and see if it's okay for you? Otherwise, if the Library ever opens back up I'll see if I can get a drawing of him.
( man with ingrained technology trauma forgets pictures are a thing for a second )
PS: The Kwisatz Haderach does see all, including his beautiful wife.
no subject
( so. patient by obligation, maybe, and her own big dumb mouth. )
Just a movie? Or do I feel as you feel?
It should be okay, I think. As long as you're gentle about it. Warn me, before you do it.
You're on my mind all the time already, so ... I'd like to try. I trust you not to take advantage.
PS: As a god in my own right and of my own religion, I'm choosing to overrule the Kwisatz Haderach. From here on out, all of your arguments against my gospel (that Paul Atreides is, in fact, prettiest) will be labeled as heresy to Ravka's religion.
no subject
( sweating, pausing two seconds to see if he's going to be yelled at, carrying on )
You'll know my thoughts and feelings at that time, but you won't be me in the memory. You'll be watching it from a third perspective. It might feel confusing, but it shouldn't be hard to separate between the two of us. I'll be there to help you.
If it is too much, you can tell me and I will end the memory.
PS: What is the punishment for heresy, my goddess?
no subject
( too soon, maybe, in the wake of the past week of her erratic behavior. but it's there in the ether now, alina tiptoeing curiously. )
Knowing you'll be there helps more than you know. I don't mind if it is too much.
I'd rather be overwhelmed by a good memory than a poor one.
PS: I've heard it involves a lot of kneeling, begging for mercy, and a test to prove you're very, very sorry for your sins and serious about repenting.
no subject
( an easier admittance with the boundary of phone screens between them. it's not the kink part that gives him pause — more, a question left open in the ether, a burgeoning shame, is it okay to enjoy something that has so recently harmed you? if alina is his patron saint, then this is his confessional. he's sure she will steer him right if he's on the wrong path, as any goddess would. )
It will be a good memory, that I can promise. Most of my memories of my father are good.
PS: Unrelated, I am a heretic.
no subject
( is anything strange ever too strange for paul atreides? she's beginning to have her doubts. )
Okay. If you loved him, I'm sure I will, too.
PS: Such auspicious timing. 🤔 Surely it must be a coincidence. Do you have any other offenses to confess, Paul? I want to be certain the severity of your punishment matches your trespasses.
→ action
You want to know something? I really like you. I think you could call me anything, and I'd answer.
I did. And I do, still.
PS: I'm sure I can come up with something, if my penance is as rewarding as kneeling between your legs.
( he actually types and sends that right outside the door, but waits a few proprietary seconds before letting himself in. so alina can read it firstly, and then a few extra seconds so she doesn't think it strange he didn't just — say it in person. which he might've, if he thought about it.
regardless, he enters in the room, and it becomes apparent why coming back to her took so long — in one hand he has a wrapped bouquet of iris flowers, a tray tucked under his arm. the tray is technically for kettlewing, who is instead making paul look particularly pregnant, tucked into the wide pocket of his hoodie which was the only thing that stopped him crying. in any case, paul drops the flowers on her bedside table, along with his phone, reaching a hand out to push back her sweaty hair, bending to press a kiss on her forehead. )
Hi. ( sitting, he shuffles kettlewing out of his pocket, who looks about ready to start wailing again, before paul presses him carefully to alina's side. he's warm from a recent brew, it might help her cramps if her stomach's hurting. ) He's full of broth right now. No, um. No vegetables or anything.
( because that feels a little gross, but if he said that out loud, the tears would probably start up again. in any case. paul also pulls out a bag of gummy worms from the pocket, and tossing them beside her on the bed. he keeps one hand on her head, thumbing her temple, idly checking her temperature. )
How are you feeling? Any better?
no subject
fever-bright eyes blink back at him, like big jewels embedded on a dopey, delirious smile. it's infinitely better than keramzin's treatment plan already — no one had ever brought flowers to beautify her bedside, when alina's limbs were too weak to carry her to the meadow. mostly, they'd just let her be, like a soul destined for a tomb. )
A little. ( her head lolls as she nuzzles into his palm, forehead clammy. the thing about sickness, when you're a furnace of warmth — alina's skin is concerningly cool and shivery, as if touched by an invisible draft. his little squak of indignation doesn't stop alina from rectifying it by squirming to curl around kettlewing, forced to play the role of heating pad and stuffed animal alike, as he nests into her stomach. ) I have a very attentive nurse, you see. He's hard at work curing me.
( she inhales deeply, lets the delicate scent of iris stick sweetly in her lungs. her stomach is still a twisting vortex, but alina's hand crinkles the bag of gummy worms under her fingertips, anyway, working at opening it with weak, distracted fingers. her other hand tugs at his sweatshirt, equally pitiful in strength. )
Thank you. ( sweetly, if not a clear delay in remembering proper manners. ) Will you lie with me?
no subject
a nod of assent then, drawing his hand down her shoulder, comfortingly. )
Yeah. I'll just change.
( the sweater, mostly saved from kettlewing's salty bouillon tears gets left on the foot of the bed in case alina gets the chills. it's shortly followed by his wet, gross shirt, which paul puts in its rightful place in the hamper. he fusses around a little, stealing a mug full of paint water from alina's painting area, dumping and filling it with fresh water, trimming the irises swiftly down to size before setting them inside in an artful display. all in all it takes less than a minute for him to slide into bed beside her, propped up a little higher on the pillows to pull her into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder, an arm down over her back. kettlewing is a hot compress almost smushed between them, but paul doesn't mind, sighing contentedly to his weird, porcelain birdy sounds. )
Comfortable?
no subject
it just so happen that every visitor is an unwanted interloper on the list, except for paul. and, by association: kettlewing, who is making a stream of high-pitched squeaks that either mean he's brewing, or snoring and asleep. both, potentially. )
No. ( yes. ) I still think a hole in the ground would be more comfortable.
( dramatically, she flips back down, strength spent on that one simple task. messily, her hair spills out against paul's shoulder, into his face, with little regard, as she burrows back into his (bony) shoulder. the gummy bears — still tragically unopened — get pressed into paul's chest. husband duties require opening up jars, and stupid plastic bags when your clammy fingers won't cooperate. )
Do mice hibernate for winter? ( nerdy paul atreides will surely know. alina frowns, thoughtful. ) We should do that.
no subject
he also wasn't listening, so it takes a second to play catch-up in the conversation. then, on auto-pilot — )
They don't. Zapodidae do though, and they're a little like the kangaroo mice of Arrakis.
( responsibly, he picks up her offered goodies and tears open the pull tab of the plastic, more than a little amused she couldn't do that much — but also a little warm and soft and humbled he gets to take care of her even in the small, silly ways. he fingers through lesser flavors at the top of the bag and picks out a strawberry pink bear, holding it in front of alina's mouth for her to eat. he gets another one ready for her, whenever she wants it, pinched between his pointer and thumb finger.
and, since he imagines he'll have to be the one to broach the subject, he injects it a little clumsily, )
How do you feel about the memory-share now?
no subject
( sometimes, she's struck by a suspicion that paul would happily read an encyclopedia back to front, and miraculously retain room for it in his brain. that's fine with alina — it's nice, for a change, to not be expected to have answers for every single question that crosses her desk. no need to undergo the metamorphosis resculpt had tried to cocoon her in, like larvae not yet ready to emerge, no need to be — better than what her raw form is. so, she's not the brightest lantern in the room. so, her knowledge doesn't illuminate every corner of what there is to know of the world. she can pluck her know-it-all paul from a shelf and flip through his pages, completing her where she's incomplete.
endeared, she nips the ends of his fingertips as she retrieves the sugary bear from him, all scraping and indelicate teeth. the next, too, more like a pampered housecat than she'd like to admit — if she isn't careful, she'll forget how to use her claws, a domesticated and dependent wretch. )
It's been ten minutes. Was I meant to run away? ( she squints through her chewing, which quickly progresses to the distracting task of sucking on paul's fingers, knowing there's no trace of gelatin stuck to them. some tangible proof, maybe, that her limbs are loose — that she isn't tensing to bolt, now that he's cornered her. now that the threat of having his mind meld into hers like water pouring into a vase is inescapably real. her heart spasms in her chest, a trained impulse against the thought of invasion. still, she presses a kiss to the cool marble of his hands, before draping them over a cheek. ) I promise I'm okay. Just — guide me through it, while you're doing it.
( aleksander had never warned her before ripping her open. neither had alia, before tiptoeing in uninvited. it might be nice to hear him knocking at the door, asking her aloud to let him in, making himself known not as an intruder but a guest. )
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Maybe. Well — not running away, but changing your mind is allowed. It's still allowed.
( hands curve over her bony knees, sliding down the tops of her freckled thighs, landing at her hips, loosely covered by lazy sleep shorts. paul edges up the hem of his sweatshirt, just enough to stroke his thumbs against her stomach, wondering if he might be able to cash in his learning ravkan reward now, after all. well — nowish. first things first. )
You know ... Okay. Imagine a hard-boiled egg. ( he gives her a look. ) Just stick with me. You know, if you push your thumb against it, there's some give, but when you take your thumb away there's no imprint. In this case, your mind is the hard boiled egg, and my memory is the thumb. It'll fill a gap, long enough for both of us to see it, and when it ends, it'll just be you again. ( cozying down, he props his chin up between her breasts, weight distributed down her middle, a little like an oversized cat finding the most comfortable and inconvenient spot to lounge on. ) Okay?
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not for the first time, she finds herself grateful she's a pliant puddle of limbs under paul's lean body. less of a risk their minds clash rather than meld like a runny yolk. she squirms and stretches up into him, spurts of puffy exhales at his fingers teasing the ticklish skin of her belly, dangling in that dreamy void between sleepiness and consciousness. lazily, her toes dangle and draw down the backs of his legs, a softspun hum in her throat. a finger trails down the bridge of his nose, tapping freckles in her mental count. one, two, three, before she loses focus and has to start the process again. )
I don't mind you in my gaps. ( pun intentional, judging from the bleary, tranquil smile on her face. it's nice thought, isn't it? to be filled in all places, mind and body and soul. she lifts a hand, carding it through his curls, nails raking against his cat, like scratching a beloved cat under its chin. ) But I should warn you it won't only be me. I don't know how ... different my mind might feel, to you, but my power knows you're no threat. I won't let it harm you.