i.Sagramore kisses her, weaving on his feet--he knows well enough it doesn't mean anything, nor will it, but that's all right with him; what he values about her isn't any willingness to lie down with him. It's the way he can pretend to taste his home on her lips, and that she makes him feel settled in a way he never is. She eases the longing for the country that's only his in name.
Bearing all that in mind, it doesn't much matter that she doesn't kiss back, or that she steers him back towards his room with a firm hand.
ii. "Helen."
She glances up, irritated. "What now?"
"At least let me stay with you."
"To what end? To what end, for heaven's sake?"
"Well, if you want to drink someone's blood--"
"Stop it," she says sharply.
"I want to provide moral support."
"Go away."
He takes her hand and bows over it, kisses it. "Only for the moment. But I'll sit with you one of these nights."
iii. She knows he's prone to trouble, so it shouldn't be a surprise when he shows back up covered in grave dirt and dried blood, but still her heart catches in her chest. She utters a curse in Hungarian and runs to him.
"It's all right, it's all right," he says, laughing, but she kisses him anyway, hard on the mouth, too grateful to tell him any other way. She's not sure he'd understand any other way of telling.
[i do not feel like logging into the right journal, shush]
helen/sagramore
Isn't it?!
i.Sagramore kisses her, weaving on his feet--he knows well enough it doesn't mean anything, nor will it, but that's all right with him; what he values about her isn't any willingness to lie down with him. It's the way he can pretend to taste his home on her lips, and that she makes him feel settled in a way he never is. She eases the longing for the country that's only his in name.
Bearing all that in mind, it doesn't much matter that she doesn't kiss back, or that she steers him back towards his room with a firm hand.
ii. "Helen."
She glances up, irritated. "What now?"
"At least let me stay with you."
"To what end? To what end, for heaven's sake?"
"Well, if you want to drink someone's blood--"
"Stop it," she says sharply.
"I want to provide moral support."
"Go away."
He takes her hand and bows over it, kisses it. "Only for the moment. But I'll sit with you one of these nights."
iii. She knows he's prone to trouble, so it shouldn't be a surprise when he shows back up covered in grave dirt and dried blood, but still her heart catches in her chest. She utters a curse in Hungarian and runs to him.
"It's all right, it's all right," he says, laughing, but she kisses him anyway, hard on the mouth, too grateful to tell him any other way. She's not sure he'd understand any other way of telling.
[i do not feel like logging into the right journal, shush]