[ His fingers curl back around hers - strong hands, long-fingered and warm and elegantly manicured, sensitive and gentle. His other hand comes up to cup her jaw, to caress, to stroke. Her eyes are closed, so he can't convince her of his sincerity with a gaze - so he does it with the play of skin on skin, the warm and earnest touch of his fingers upon hers.
It's a simulacrum of warmth. Nothing more than that. Even as he draws in an unsteady breath, like a man unmoored by what he sees, he feels...nothing, really. Respect for her intense ferocity, and respect for her refusal to accept anything but worship, yes. Regard for her considerable beauty. But the faint edge of trembling vulnerability in his touch, his eyes, his breathing - that's completely faked. The adoration and need are faked. The hunger is faked. The only real emotion he feels in this moment is a little ache of contempt for himself, just like he feels every time. By the liar through and through. Doing his damnedest to take apart a woman - for what?
For Barrayar, he supposes. For the not-yet Imperium. For his honor and his oaths.
He leans in, then, his lips just brushing against hers. Not a proper kiss yet. A shy, uncertain touch - and then a hesitation, as though he's making certain he's welcome - and then another, firmer touch of skin to skin. Breath mingling with hers, fingers curling against the skin of her neck. ]
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It's a simulacrum of warmth. Nothing more than that. Even as he draws in an unsteady breath, like a man unmoored by what he sees, he feels...nothing, really. Respect for her intense ferocity, and respect for her refusal to accept anything but worship, yes. Regard for her considerable beauty. But the faint edge of trembling vulnerability in his touch, his eyes, his breathing - that's completely faked. The adoration and need are faked. The hunger is faked. The only real emotion he feels in this moment is a little ache of contempt for himself, just like he feels every time. By the liar through and through. Doing his damnedest to take apart a woman - for what?
For Barrayar, he supposes. For the not-yet Imperium. For his honor and his oaths.
He leans in, then, his lips just brushing against hers. Not a proper kiss yet. A shy, uncertain touch - and then a hesitation, as though he's making certain he's welcome - and then another, firmer touch of skin to skin. Breath mingling with hers, fingers curling against the skin of her neck. ]