She could defend her position, explain it's traditional, argue that she can do what she likes. Instead, she squirms closer to him on the bed, catching every bit of warmth, writhing with comfort, and asks for yet more. Selfish, always selfish.
One arm moves to encircle her as she inches nearer, an exchange that— by now— has become a matter of habit whether Jone is awake and aware of her tendency to seek him out, or whether she does so deep within the throes of sleep. A difficult accommodation for Noah, who in his most prevailing pattern of sleep rests stiffly, untouched and sequestered to whatever portion of the bed or cot or ground he feels is his own, exclusively.
"I shall look after it always."
Well, it isn't a yes outright, but it is a sign of fondness for it. That, to Jone's mind, may or may not count for something.
He scoffs softly against the rolling pressure of her relaxation, finding his own in turn. An easy thing, considering the fullness of their own self-appointed schedule right now.
Foolish. And yet not undesired.
"I am unused to receiving gifts, aside from those granted to me by Emperor Gramis when I was first chosen to serve as Judge Magister. Thus in truth, I have no scale to offer, nor comparisons to make. I admire it because it was given to me, by you— there is nothing else to want."
It's such an utterly Noah thing to say, and she loves it for that. Jone smears a kiss from his cheekbone to his ear in quiet thanks. "Just means I have to give you more gifts."
It offers him the rise of her shoulder, that sloping kiss she paints across him, and he, seizing on it, returns the gesture against the curvature afforded to him.
“You are all I need. I meant what I said: do not strain yourself to spoil me, I would not have it.”
His cheek lies there for a moment of contemplation against her arm. She has given him much. Too much.
She doesn't bother explaining how much she likes 'spoiling' him. She doesn't truly think she could spoil him if she tried, but she still likes trying. It's just not a conversation worth having when he's nodding off.
He shudders unbidden beneath the vibrant press of it, fingers tightening in their grip across her arms— one low, lone breath exhaling through his nose.
A noise escapes his throat, stern, impatient. It takes only a single moment— where her fingers begin the process of gracing her nightclothes— for him to reach high and snare her, yanking her to the mattress with a growl.
Victory is hers, it seems.
And neither of them will be sleeping for yet another night.
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"D'you like it?"
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"I shall look after it always."
Well, it isn't a yes outright, but it is a sign of fondness for it. That, to Jone's mind, may or may not count for something.
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She pulls the covers closer over them, another part of this pre-sleep ritual. Her legs tangle with his, her head finds his shoulder.
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Foolish. And yet not undesired.
"I am unused to receiving gifts, aside from those granted to me by Emperor Gramis when I was first chosen to serve as Judge Magister. Thus in truth, I have no scale to offer, nor comparisons to make. I admire it because it was given to me, by you— there is nothing else to want."
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“You are all I need. I meant what I said: do not strain yourself to spoil me, I would not have it.”
His cheek lies there for a moment of contemplation against her arm. She has given him much. Too much.
What has he done for her in turn?
“A bath, tomorrow.” He murmurs, without context.
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"You're right," she says, "you stink."
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He stops there, head lifting like a dog called to attention from its den.
“Do I...?’
They have kept busy. It would not be a stretch to imagine he makes himself less than pleasant for the effort of it, salt still clinging to his skin.
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She punctuates this by kissing at his neck hard enough she's basically tasting him.
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An attempt to steady himself, however futile.
“...I thought we were meant to sleep.”
Mild. Enduring. And far, far from scolding.
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She's already unbuttoning her nightgown. "Noah. I need you." Her voice is less need and more mischief.
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Victory is hers, it seems.
And neither of them will be sleeping for yet another night.