( 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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. )
no subject
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?
no subject
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.