That little nudge against his toe was met with an almost too-eager return, desperate for the kind of expression that has no place at the table. It's the part of Zexion's physicality that's like a leaning housecat abruptly interested in attention, an eely instep wriggling underfoot, pressing beneath the sole of Edmund's shoe and riding up, bandying about his ankle.
Oh, so you're here with him? He intends to take full advantage of that.
Although Zexion is still too private and too proud to blush over being told all the ways they share significance with each other, he does need to shut his eyes a moment, hiding a bit of himself behind their lids, dipping his chin with a secretive smile to show he's heard.
The real Edmund Pevensie? On a day less bone cold out, he'd want to haul his friend out on a lawn somewhere to lie beneath the stars to thoroughly examine exactly what he means by that, the truest self. Does having a gift to read the heart and measure the quality of its darkness make it any easier to find reflection, authenticity? In any case, it's something else even more appreciable and priceless than the midafternoon spread between then.
It's interesting, to try and imagine Edmund as the grown ruler he'd become in the paradise of Narnian fields and glens. It would be hard to think any higher of him in that place, that time, than he does right now.
"I like him best this way." Zexion decides quietly yet utterly resolute, another cautious endearment slinking out into the light. "Guess I'll keep taking my chances, with the longest taste of you I can bear."
It isn't entirely meant to bring to mind the patient pace of languid kisses, but if their minds should mutually dip there, Zexion doesn't make haste to brush it away, letting the poignant silence simmer between them and grow a little frustrated for the repression game they'd signed themselves up for. In any other cafe in town, it would be perfectly right to gather a tea date up in one's lap and sink into each other in plain view of other patrons.
"Such a gent," he laughs, relaxing himself at last. "And here I was expecting feather down."
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Date: 2016-11-26 07:59 am (UTC)Oh, so you're here with him? He intends to take full advantage of that.
Although Zexion is still too private and too proud to blush over being told all the ways they share significance with each other, he does need to shut his eyes a moment, hiding a bit of himself behind their lids, dipping his chin with a secretive smile to show he's heard.
The real Edmund Pevensie? On a day less bone cold out, he'd want to haul his friend out on a lawn somewhere to lie beneath the stars to thoroughly examine exactly what he means by that, the truest self. Does having a gift to read the heart and measure the quality of its darkness make it any easier to find reflection, authenticity? In any case, it's something else even more appreciable and priceless than the midafternoon spread between then.
It's interesting, to try and imagine Edmund as the grown ruler he'd become in the paradise of Narnian fields and glens. It would be hard to think any higher of him in that place, that time, than he does right now.
"I like him best this way." Zexion decides quietly yet utterly resolute, another cautious endearment slinking out into the light. "Guess I'll keep taking my chances, with the longest taste of you I can bear."
It isn't entirely meant to bring to mind the patient pace of languid kisses, but if their minds should mutually dip there, Zexion doesn't make haste to brush it away, letting the poignant silence simmer between them and grow a little frustrated for the repression game they'd signed themselves up for. In any other cafe in town, it would be perfectly right to gather a tea date up in one's lap and sink into each other in plain view of other patrons.
"Such a gent," he laughs, relaxing himself at last. "And here I was expecting feather down."