[ Jaime giggles, a light, effervescent sound as he makes his way through the matted floors, a little amazed at how familiar and how unknown this is all at once, the setting exotic in a way that Jaime's never seen before (he really only managed to grab the place and pick up a few doodads from the convenience store) but having Ruka in his arms is such a wonderfully familiar thing, has been since before they even started dating. It's the same as this whole thing, isn't it? Familiar, but different.
Good different, though. Different in a way that buzzes right down to his bones, from the way she kicks off her shoes with a careless thump they'd never do otherwise to the fact that even now, with emotions running as high as they are, she's still checking up on him, as though he's something precious to be preserved.
She doesn't have to. But he kind of likes that she does anyway. ]
I will. But I don't wanna stop now, I can promise you that much.
[ The bedroom's not much. A table low to the ground, a futon, a TV he doubts they're going to get much use out of, sliding doors leading out into the backyard. ]
I'm not -- I mean, I haven't done much. [ He's done very, very little. But it's hard to feel ashamed or embarrassed right now. ] So you might hafta be a little patient. But I'm ready to learn.
[ And that's the whole of it, isn't it? I'm ready. Even with Traci, he'd been comfortable with where they were, a little resistant when it came time to keep going. But he's older now, and this feels good, certain.
She's never had much trouble telling him what's what anyway. Traci being more experienced was intimidating. Ruka being more experienced is a relief. ]
[ It's teasing, but it's fond, sincere. It's hardly her first time — it's been a long time since she could call herself chaste — but it's very, very different. With Eridan, cautious and fumbling, their slow progression had been half the consequence of their age, and half, quite simply, that he wasn't human. The way he approached relationships wasn't human. And, well, the Alternian approach didn't call for much direct intimacy, so of course it had taken more time to work out what could work. Everyone else, boys but never boyfriends, time was always short. Guys that flirted in the dark never intended to see her in daylight, and that was fine. She was a novelty prize — desperately sought in the moment, a thrill for the accomplishment, and gently discarded.
To put it another way, she has decent enough experience with guys wanting to be with her, but rarely, rarely with them wanting to be with her. Even Eridan, who'd dated her for years, who'd sworn fidelity and eternity and a thousand other lofty, romantic things... he'd never tried to know her. He was only ever desperate for prizes to hoard.
Descending to the futon is a little more careful a journey than it would be to a framed mattress, but it surprises her how soft it feels once they're down. This wasn't the kind of life she lived before becoming an imPort; she'd always had Western-style beds, way too large for a child's needs, and everything else high up, high class, sterile and removed from the world around them. She presses the heel of her palm down to test the yield, and finds it suitable.
On the plus side, no springs. Even better, it's never been used to roll up a cadaver. Always important.
As ever, her hand is drawn back to his face, bare fingers scratching into beard. Her own expression is made soft by the look of him; she doesn't have to worry about noise, but it makes her speak more quietly, anyway. ]
Don't worry about trying to do things right. [ Okay, telling him not to worry has never worked in literally any other circumstance, but she really means it this time. ] Just... follow what you want. That's all.
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Good different, though. Different in a way that buzzes right down to his bones, from the way she kicks off her shoes with a careless thump they'd never do otherwise to the fact that even now, with emotions running as high as they are, she's still checking up on him, as though he's something precious to be preserved.
She doesn't have to. But he kind of likes that she does anyway. ]
I will. But I don't wanna stop now, I can promise you that much.
[ The bedroom's not much. A table low to the ground, a futon, a TV he doubts they're going to get much use out of, sliding doors leading out into the backyard. ]
I'm not -- I mean, I haven't done much. [ He's done very, very little. But it's hard to feel ashamed or embarrassed right now. ] So you might hafta be a little patient. But I'm ready to learn.
[ And that's the whole of it, isn't it? I'm ready. Even with Traci, he'd been comfortable with where they were, a little resistant when it came time to keep going. But he's older now, and this feels good, certain.
She's never had much trouble telling him what's what anyway. Traci being more experienced was intimidating. Ruka being more experienced is a relief. ]
no subject
[ It's teasing, but it's fond, sincere. It's hardly her first time — it's been a long time since she could call herself chaste — but it's very, very different. With Eridan, cautious and fumbling, their slow progression had been half the consequence of their age, and half, quite simply, that he wasn't human. The way he approached relationships wasn't human. And, well, the Alternian approach didn't call for much direct intimacy, so of course it had taken more time to work out what could work. Everyone else, boys but never boyfriends, time was always short. Guys that flirted in the dark never intended to see her in daylight, and that was fine. She was a novelty prize — desperately sought in the moment, a thrill for the accomplishment, and gently discarded.
To put it another way, she has decent enough experience with guys wanting to be with her, but rarely, rarely with them wanting to be with her. Even Eridan, who'd dated her for years, who'd sworn fidelity and eternity and a thousand other lofty, romantic things... he'd never tried to know her. He was only ever desperate for prizes to hoard.
Descending to the futon is a little more careful a journey than it would be to a framed mattress, but it surprises her how soft it feels once they're down. This wasn't the kind of life she lived before becoming an imPort; she'd always had Western-style beds, way too large for a child's needs, and everything else high up, high class, sterile and removed from the world around them. She presses the heel of her palm down to test the yield, and finds it suitable.
On the plus side, no springs. Even better, it's never been used to roll up a cadaver. Always important.
As ever, her hand is drawn back to his face, bare fingers scratching into beard. Her own expression is made soft by the look of him; she doesn't have to worry about noise, but it makes her speak more quietly, anyway. ]
Don't worry about trying to do things right. [ Okay, telling him not to worry has never worked in literally any other circumstance, but she really means it this time. ] Just... follow what you want. That's all.
So, Jaime? What do you want?