His face turned toward his shoulder, enough that he could see her from the corner of one dark eye. She was disheveled and damp with sweat and silvered by the moonlight, and the sheets she gathered to herself clung to the curves of her body. Something about the sight made him feel as though his ribs were plated with iron. He turned his face away.
"Merely what I said. I've no more speeches in me today." His tone crested toward rebuke, but fell short. The next words were quieter, and felt strange on his lips. "You are neither a toy nor a coward, and I should not treat you as such. You are a woman of quality. Where you were born does not change that."
Very strange, yes. Even absurd.
His erection had started to withdraw. Vayne gripped the hem of his pants, pulling them up again gruffly, as though he were suddenly annoyed by its presence. Sitting on the bed with her eyes on him was infuriating. Or it wasn't. Or it was. Something was, Espers take the how and why. After a pause he stood, brushing back the sweaty mane of his hair and forcing himself to cross over to the table beside the painting of Rabanastre. His mind's voice was telling him to calm himself but it was just noise, like the hum of snowflies in the Feywood. He seized one of the glasses and drank, not out of any thirst for the vintage but to burn the focus back into himself.
But the burn was slow. He still felt her eyes on him.
"You frustrate me." Another sip, deeper this time, and then he set the glass down. "I am - unaccustomed to that feeling...as I am to regret. That is all."
no subject
"Merely what I said. I've no more speeches in me today." His tone crested toward rebuke, but fell short. The next words were quieter, and felt strange on his lips. "You are neither a toy nor a coward, and I should not treat you as such. You are a woman of quality. Where you were born does not change that."
Very strange, yes. Even absurd.
His erection had started to withdraw. Vayne gripped the hem of his pants, pulling them up again gruffly, as though he were suddenly annoyed by its presence. Sitting on the bed with her eyes on him was infuriating. Or it wasn't. Or it was. Something was, Espers take the how and why. After a pause he stood, brushing back the sweaty mane of his hair and forcing himself to cross over to the table beside the painting of Rabanastre. His mind's voice was telling him to calm himself but it was just noise, like the hum of snowflies in the Feywood. He seized one of the glasses and drank, not out of any thirst for the vintage but to burn the focus back into himself.
But the burn was slow. He still felt her eyes on him.
"You frustrate me." Another sip, deeper this time, and then he set the glass down. "I am - unaccustomed to that feeling...as I am to regret. That is all."