A Resolved Heart

Before she had rolled off him, Dora swore there had been a moment that he was going to kiss her, but she had to be imagining it, she was projecting her wants onto a simple thing -- the plain and simple of it was that she had probably been crushing him, after all, all the muscle she had wasn’t a light thing, especially for an elf, all the more delicate they were, and not that he had been thinking of closing the gap between them and taking her first true kiss. A freely given one, not one she had bought and paid for, that was an obligation, not the gift that a kiss was meant to be. And now her imagination was running away with her, as she laid there beside him on her porch.

They had laid together on her floor a week back, ad she was still a little miffed at him for leaving that evening. She had worried sick over him for more hours than she cared to share. But that was the fact Ruth was important to her, nothing more. He was a friend and it was a natural thing to worry about a friend, to hold a deep ache in one’s soul when they thought pain had been caused, or could happen. That was [i]philia[/q] for one, after all, even if the philosopher she had read hadn’t given her the tools to figure out if their friendship was one of utility, of pleasure, or of goodness. And she was happy with a love of friendship, she could be happy with it. She would be happy with it. She had to be. To keep him in her life, she had to accept that he would come and go when, and if he pleased.

So she’d take what little moments she could get.

Oh come now, it’s been at least a week since you had your fix of me, soon you’ll be here every other day because you can’t get enough of your flushing dwarf, even if she does become an innocent by-stander in your battle with gravity. And all you have to do is ask if you want me to kiss those bruises better, you know. Dora teased back, happy to lay there a little bit longer. Aye. I’ll take it back into Kirkwall this week and demand they fix the blasted thing, or give me another. I can’t end up straddling you every time you happen to startle me in the hammock. And as you say, she rolled her head over, lifting a brow. It’s got to survive an encounter with you, and if this proved anything, we’d not have made it past foreplay. Eventually, in the middle of those sentences, her cheeks had flushed their usual deep red that only he seemed to bring out in her, her eyes flicked down to his lips, and then back to his eye. She was certain now that he was going to feature prominently in her usual imagined scenario. She at least knew now how it would feel to have him between her legs, and that was enough to start her pulse racing again, so she thought of anything else she could.

So what brings you by this time, Ruth, or are you gonna make me beg for that too?

@Ruth Yoesif