[They'll have to take a vacation there. Show him what happens when you get dumb and eat the snow instead of melting it down for water. He can even have his own snow bank coffin. Sounds like a good time. They should do that next time. Clint can be pretty scary when he wants to be, she doesn't blame him at all there.
She's not. But then again she's not like most people, in any number of ways. She may have been... at one time, but she isn't now. But please she welcomes any thing you might come up with, and if, in fact, it is worthy, she'll even let it stand at that.
It's a deep all over cold that settles in your bones. It's the sort of cold that lingers long after the fire is burning and the room is warm. It stays with you, making everything difficult. She knows. She knows this sort of cold well. And ohyes.. that is nice... it's not enough, but it's a start, and maybe that's simply the human contact, the knowledge that despite what worries him about her he's open to at least trying. Whatever it is, his hand feels so very nice, and warm- for the most part.
She studies his face, he has, for as long as she's known him, displayed a good part of what he was thinking for everyone to see. It's honest, where sometimes the man himself isn't. She can appreciate that.
She likes better, she really does. She matches his pace, easy and careful, letting him feel her out, because she can give just as easily as she can take. Her hand, first gently on his cheek, then curling around the back of his head, fingers stroking through his hair. The other works it's way out from under her, the tips of her fingers brush feather light and teasing across his lower belly.]
I'm ridiculous... and clearly just insecure and silly?
She's not. But then again she's not like most people, in any number of ways. She may have been... at one time, but she isn't now. But please she welcomes any thing you might come up with, and if, in fact, it is worthy, she'll even let it stand at that.
It's a deep all over cold that settles in your bones. It's the sort of cold that lingers long after the fire is burning and the room is warm. It stays with you, making everything difficult. She knows. She knows this sort of cold well. And ohyes.. that is nice... it's not enough, but it's a start, and maybe that's simply the human contact, the knowledge that despite what worries him about her he's open to at least trying. Whatever it is, his hand feels so very nice, and warm- for the most part.
She studies his face, he has, for as long as she's known him, displayed a good part of what he was thinking for everyone to see. It's honest, where sometimes the man himself isn't. She can appreciate that.
She likes better, she really does. She matches his pace, easy and careful, letting him feel her out, because she can give just as easily as she can take. Her hand, first gently on his cheek, then curling around the back of his head, fingers stroking through his hair. The other works it's way out from under her, the tips of her fingers brush feather light and teasing across his lower belly.]