[The immediate response earned by that is a bristling indignation. Dorian shivers as cold fingers dust over his cheek, and he pays the gentle, very much desired in a certain sense, touch back with a curling of Larus' shirt into a crumpled bundle in his fist. The composure he still has starts to buckle, his limited will to resist their intimacy so he can put up a wall around it peeling away.]
And what if I need some space? [The words are edged, but there's something else in them, too. A note of desperation. This closeness they've opened up is so new but it's already all-consuming.] To breathe? Will you allow me to have that?
no subject
And what if I need some space? [The words are edged, but there's something else in them, too. A note of desperation. This closeness they've opened up is so new but it's already all-consuming.] To breathe? Will you allow me to have that?