poly_chromatic | (no subject)

It wouldn't match.

[She leans over again and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth]

I'd simply rather you have the ability to protect yourself at least a little.

[It softens his disapproval, but still.]

By putting my hands up and begging them not to eat me? [There's a little mime to go with this.] There are vampires here, too. You're not stringing me with garlic.

Vampires are easier.

[She sits down next to him]

And some of them are allergic to silver, too.

I've met some dangerous creatures I like. [He's tucking the little box into his breast pocket for now, there's no sense putting the cufflinks on something destined to be laundry.] What then?

I don't know. What then?

[She tucks her legs up to her chest]

Potentially, I piss them off with toxic jewellery.

[And he'll wear the cufflinks anyway, but not for self-defence.]

I know I'm only human. I know that makes me a prey species in your book. But if I chose to start being afraid of everything here stronger or more inclined to eat people than I am, then I wouldn't have time left in the day.

I don't think of you as prey.

[If that makes any difference]

[He'd ask if the same applies to the rest of his species but a different question raises itself as more interesting.]

What do you think of me as?

Someone who makes me feel...something.

[And that makes him different. Not prey.]

[He kisses her so she won't notice that he still doesn't know the right thing to do with that. And because kissing her never feels like the wrong thing.]

I'll wear them, and keep a distance from anyone who yelps when I shake their hand.

[She holds onto his face with her hands, her own rings warm against skin]

You don't owe me anything.

[She collects debt, hoards it, this release of it, this admission, it is the most valuable thing she can think to give him]

You don't have to wear them.

[He reaches up, curling his hands around her forearms and sliding the loop of his fingers down to circle both wrists. He rests his forehead against hers rather than pull back to reply.]

I don't want you to worry.

[That she frets, in her own way, is still revelatory.]

[Her hands twist, her fingers catching around his wrists in reply]

I don't like the sensation. Of worry.

[The odd angles of her body, her movements, seem normal now.]

You're not supposed to. Discomfort is it's purpose.

[She sits, quiet for a moment, thinking]

I don't understand at all. You don't need to explain, but I don't.

[But he does try, as simply as he can.]

It's the self-preservation instinct expanded to something you care about outside yourself, over which you inevitably have less control.

But you are not my responsibility.

Socrates is my responsibility. We're siblings. He's my brother.

[Saya is still working this out. It takes her a long time to figure out the very few emotions she has.]

Responsibility isn't a biological trait. It's a... side effect.

Are you a side-effect, Robert?

I hope not. [He's leaning it, raising his arms to pull her closer by that one conjoined point.] I mean, there are endorphin rushes and bonding chemicals giving biology a head start, but love's a choice people make for themselves.

[She looks at him, her eyes lightening, going from their dark brown to a lighter amber.

She asked him once, if he loved her, and he couldn't answer.]

Are you asking if I love you?

[And he's still a coward.

Though he meets her gaze for a long moment before dropping his.]

No.

[It doesn't matter. It doesn't have to be. This is enough.

He can repeat that as long as he likes.]

[She moves, then, going to straddle him, to push him down on the bed, her hands on his shoulders. It's not fast, so he could stop her if he wanted. She moves slowly because he is not prey.]

Do you want to know?

[Any way this ends it confuses something.

But yes, of course. Of course.]

If you know.

[Which isn't a given. It's less of a given than him capitulating to her, laying back with his hands on her hips to hold, not restrain. He doesn't feel like prey when this is quick, or rough. Prey doesn't feel so fortunate.]

Then yes.

[She leans over him, her mouth close to his ear, her hair over his face.]

Yes.

[Her whisper is like breath, a secret. It's not said with trepidation or fear - she doesn't feel those things, she doesn't understand the pain of rejection. She doesn't fear it. When she's rejected she can move on smoothly, casually.

Love with a werespider is more complex than with a human. She will never be the girl who clings. She will never understand monogamy. She can compartmentalize everything.]