[At first, the instruction doesn't make sense to him.
It feels like—criticism. Even in the gentle, constructive tone, it feels like a correction to an error he's made, an overwhelming judgment on what he had thought was honest. The wrack of a shiver outside pleasure and somewhere on the plane of just emotional takes hold of him. His hand tightens over Cy's reflexively, for the pressure of it, grasping the physical anchor against an unknown storm that's swept into his mind.
The kiss is gentle, as soothing as the words. Sweetheart comes again, carried on the back of a promise of protection that almost hollows him out completely.
A whisper, then, coming a little thick in his throat.]
no subject
It feels like—criticism. Even in the gentle, constructive tone, it feels like a correction to an error he's made, an overwhelming judgment on what he had thought was honest. The wrack of a shiver outside pleasure and somewhere on the plane of just emotional takes hold of him. His hand tightens over Cy's reflexively, for the pressure of it, grasping the physical anchor against an unknown storm that's swept into his mind.
The kiss is gentle, as soothing as the words. Sweetheart comes again, carried on the back of a promise of protection that almost hollows him out completely.
A whisper, then, coming a little thick in his throat.]
Pineapple.