It's unexpected, the thing she says. There's a pause over it that hints at some immediate twinge of feeling, Marcus resettling in his saddle.
But, of course she has other partners; he has intuited as such before, in the scarcely conscious way that a Circle mage is particularly adept at intuiting the various connections within a shared living space. And it would make even less sense for her to phrase it in some kind of past tense fashion, he thinks, only moments into existing in this state. This is all reasonable and sensible.
"I don't," is what he lands on. "I mean. I have had, but. It's alright, that you do."
And for the best, maybe, although he doesn't say that, or find satisfaction in the thought.
As direct as he is, as little tendency towards guile or sugar-coating as he has displayed in all the time they've known each other, Derrica still feels some sort of doubt about his answer.
Whether or not he can truly be alright with the idea of it, whether he would mind if she were to spend nights away from him. If someone else were to take her hand, especially in moments when he could not.
"Would it bother you?" she asks, so gently.
They are not quite close enough for her to catch hold of him. She could reach his shoulder, but her impulse is to take his hand. It culminates in a shuffle of her fingers on the reins, a sideways lean quickly corrected before her balance suffers unduly.
Marcus senses her shift in the moment it happens, and instinctively lifts a hand. Takes hers when she reaches for his, and whatever had started to shift restlessly in him at this change of topic eases, for the moment. Envelops her hand warmly in his own, looking at that interlinking before looking back to her face.
He is not given to lying, but in Riftwatch, has known some instinct towards at least concealing thought or feeling. (Had known it even longer, in the Circles, but that's another sort of concealment entirely.) Freed of it, for a moment. He had meant it when he said that how he feels for her is unchanging.
Thinks the same is true in return. "Maybe," he admits, in light of that. "And maybe not. But I think it'd disturb me more to ask differently of you, or to not try at all."
And anyway, she is beautiful, young, and deserves much. It brings him no satisfaction to think that she deserves more than only he, but it does feel true.
The touch is good. Reassuring, even if some of the doubt persists. That it's all well and good to agree here, alone on a quiet road in the light of day. Will it be different in the future?
She does love him. The depths of it have always been clear to her, even before Marcus put his fingers to her bare skin beneath the drape of her shawl.
There's quiet in the wake of his admission. A few moments of absorbing the lacing of their fingers, the warmth of his hand and the roughness of his palm and the certainty of his grip. Weighing out what she wants, all the different aspects of it set against each other.
Where 'everything' is simply a misalignment, a discomfort, more a herald of what stronger feelings may persist in the future than a live and present problem. But it does feel like a balm, that she loves him and wants to try, an immediate lifting of spirit that feels like clarity. The satisfaction of finding the simple thing in something complicated.
Practiced in his saddle, he leans over without compromising his balance too badly so that he can lift her hand without compromising hers and press a kiss to the back of it.
The sensation of his mouth on her skin sends prickling warmth racing up her arm. Derrica's hand turns in his, briefly cupping his cheek. Her thumb stroking there, while she balances carefully in the saddle.
It will not always be so easy. But this is the truth: she loves him, and she wants him. They can reconcile all number of things around that truth.
"I love you," she says again, without any qualifications following it. Just this sentiment, so well-worn that the only novelty to it is saying it aloud rather than taking it for granted that it's known between them.
Likewise, Marcus knows a stirring of stupid interest at the feeling of her fingers at his cheek, recalling a little how they'd held each other. He allows his hand to skim down the length of her inner arm before in the moment before he straightens back up again.
"And I, you," he says, where there is pleasure to be had in the simple call and respond.
And they have this whole trip of Ostwick ahead of them, and her to himself, for all that it isn't something he feels a great need to voice out loud.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But, of course she has other partners; he has intuited as such before, in the scarcely conscious way that a Circle mage is particularly adept at intuiting the various connections within a shared living space. And it would make even less sense for her to phrase it in some kind of past tense fashion, he thinks, only moments into existing in this state. This is all reasonable and sensible.
"I don't," is what he lands on. "I mean. I have had, but. It's alright, that you do."
And for the best, maybe, although he doesn't say that, or find satisfaction in the thought.
no subject
Whether or not he can truly be alright with the idea of it, whether he would mind if she were to spend nights away from him. If someone else were to take her hand, especially in moments when he could not.
"Would it bother you?" she asks, so gently.
They are not quite close enough for her to catch hold of him. She could reach his shoulder, but her impulse is to take his hand. It culminates in a shuffle of her fingers on the reins, a sideways lean quickly corrected before her balance suffers unduly.
no subject
He is not given to lying, but in Riftwatch, has known some instinct towards at least concealing thought or feeling. (Had known it even longer, in the Circles, but that's another sort of concealment entirely.) Freed of it, for a moment. He had meant it when he said that how he feels for her is unchanging.
Thinks the same is true in return. "Maybe," he admits, in light of that. "And maybe not. But I think it'd disturb me more to ask differently of you, or to not try at all."
And anyway, she is beautiful, young, and deserves much. It brings him no satisfaction to think that she deserves more than only he, but it does feel true.
no subject
She does love him. The depths of it have always been clear to her, even before Marcus put his fingers to her bare skin beneath the drape of her shawl.
There's quiet in the wake of his admission. A few moments of absorbing the lacing of their fingers, the warmth of his hand and the roughness of his palm and the certainty of his grip. Weighing out what she wants, all the different aspects of it set against each other.
"I love you," she says again. "I want to try."
no subject
Where 'everything' is simply a misalignment, a discomfort, more a herald of what stronger feelings may persist in the future than a live and present problem. But it does feel like a balm, that she loves him and wants to try, an immediate lifting of spirit that feels like clarity. The satisfaction of finding the simple thing in something complicated.
Practiced in his saddle, he leans over without compromising his balance too badly so that he can lift her hand without compromising hers and press a kiss to the back of it.
no subject
It will not always be so easy. But this is the truth: she loves him, and she wants him. They can reconcile all number of things around that truth.
"I love you," she says again, without any qualifications following it. Just this sentiment, so well-worn that the only novelty to it is saying it aloud rather than taking it for granted that it's known between them.
no subject
"And I, you," he says, where there is pleasure to be had in the simple call and respond.
And they have this whole trip of Ostwick ahead of them, and her to himself, for all that it isn't something he feels a great need to voice out loud.