[Kaworu's fingertips alight on Paul's half-parted lips, and it's his turn to make noise, a furtive, shivering note between gasp and keen. It almost sounds like pain; it almost hurts, in his dazzled, liminal state, like his newly pierced ears almost hurt.
There are times that Kaworu seems to know so little, in his innocence, that Paul only wants to slip him into some safe pocket of the world and keep him there, untouched. There are other times, like this, where he unfolds like great, pale wings, where he opens like a brilliant eye of sacred fire, and Paul feels like the one who is small, and at his mercy.
And isn't that what he wants? To be at someone's mercy? To set their hand at his throat and their mouth at his temple and let them decide, one way or the other, what is to become of him? Isn't that it?]
I don't want to be difficult.
[He could slant it teasing, and still save himself, if that's what he wants to call raising up his shuttering defenses. He doesn't. He doesn't do anything with it except say it, in the way it wants to be said, a softly bewildered confession.
He doesn't want to be difficult. He doesn't want to complicate things. He always does both. He always ends up playing games, setting what he won't ever let himself ask for inside a shifting puzzle box he never gives anyone a fair chance to solve.
He wants to be solved. He wants someone to forgive him for things he hasn't done yet, and for all the things he has that no one else will blame him for, and he wants someone to shatter him, and he wants too much, and he wants it wrong, and he doesn't know how to make himself stop.
And he wants this. He wants this, the heatwave shimmer of everywhere they're touching, the building magnetic tug between them, the trace of salt he can nearly taste on Kaworu's fingertips when he speaks again and his tongue all but touches them.]
It's all right if you hurt me. If it's you.
[He doesn't make a decision. He rediscovers the one he already made, and he doesn't let himself want things like this, because the way he wants is a riptide, a gravity shift, a dark and molten promise in his boreal green eyes.]
I want to know what a kiss from a guardian angel is like, if you still want to show me. Do you want to show me, Kaworu?
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There are times that Kaworu seems to know so little, in his innocence, that Paul only wants to slip him into some safe pocket of the world and keep him there, untouched. There are other times, like this, where he unfolds like great, pale wings, where he opens like a brilliant eye of sacred fire, and Paul feels like the one who is small, and at his mercy.
And isn't that what he wants? To be at someone's mercy? To set their hand at his throat and their mouth at his temple and let them decide, one way or the other, what is to become of him? Isn't that it?]
I don't want to be difficult.
[He could slant it teasing, and still save himself, if that's what he wants to call raising up his shuttering defenses. He doesn't. He doesn't do anything with it except say it, in the way it wants to be said, a softly bewildered confession.
He doesn't want to be difficult. He doesn't want to complicate things. He always does both. He always ends up playing games, setting what he won't ever let himself ask for inside a shifting puzzle box he never gives anyone a fair chance to solve.
He wants to be solved. He wants someone to forgive him for things he hasn't done yet, and for all the things he has that no one else will blame him for, and he wants someone to shatter him, and he wants too much, and he wants it wrong, and he doesn't know how to make himself stop.
And he wants this. He wants this, the heatwave shimmer of everywhere they're touching, the building magnetic tug between them, the trace of salt he can nearly taste on Kaworu's fingertips when he speaks again and his tongue all but touches them.]
It's all right if you hurt me. If it's you.
[He doesn't make a decision. He rediscovers the one he already made, and he doesn't let himself want things like this, because the way he wants is a riptide, a gravity shift, a dark and molten promise in his boreal green eyes.]
I want to know what a kiss from a guardian angel is like, if you still want to show me. Do you want to show me, Kaworu?