[ At first, Iain wonders if he's just imagining it. She wouldn't, would she? She wouldn't say the words out loud.
His hand leaves her neck to wind in her honey blonde hair, the other curling into a fist in the sheets of the bed as his frame rocks against hers. There's a radio silence, a pause, one that says the line has been crossed and, he supposes, there's no turning back. Slowly, he lets his lips trail along her jaw, just where his fingers had been, until they reach her ear.
Hoarse: ] I'll stay.
[ (The worst part of it, he thinks, is that no matter what either of them does, there's no guarantee of it.) ]
✘
His hand leaves her neck to wind in her honey blonde hair, the other curling into a fist in the sheets of the bed as his frame rocks against hers. There's a radio silence, a pause, one that says the line has been crossed and, he supposes, there's no turning back. Slowly, he lets his lips trail along her jaw, just where his fingers had been, until they reach her ear.
Hoarse: ] I'll stay.
[ (The worst part of it, he thinks, is that no matter what either of them does, there's no guarantee of it.) ]