She feels a little humbled, to receive such a confession from such a closed off man. Amazing what a good shag will do to you. (Her throat feels blocked by the weight of an inconvenient emotion. She ignores it.)
"And now you're trapped," she says, grinning. She gives his ear a light tug. "With you til the end, I am."
"Trapped is not the word I would use to describe it."
Humor pulls at the edge of his mouth. Colors the way he lets his head roll briefly with the tug of her fingertips. There's no difficulty to it, reaching across in that moment to steal one lone strip of jerky— lifting it in offering just beside Jone's cheek, ensuring she's struck by yet another puff of stale breath as jagged rows of teeth gently close around dried meat, tugging insistently until he lets go.
Jone goes very still, until the creature moves from her face. Just as promised, it doesn't bite, doesn't scratch. It's almost gentle, but she's not risking it. As soon as the teeth move away from her, she leans slightly to the side, making more room between them.
She pushes a hand out, poking him in the shoulder. "Arse. Starting to regret my anointed kindness."
She pushes at him, and he— in an uncharacteristic burst of movement— sets his own gauntleted fingertips to the back of her head, using it as leverage to (provided she opts not to fight it) draw her close to his chest. The softer hang of his cloak, rather than cold, jutting metal.
Much as he'd riled her, he wishes only to have her near.
She's stiff and still against him, but only for a moment. At some point, she's gained the ability to fold against his armor, feel soft and warm against all that cold metal. A quick movement, and she kisses him just under his ear, light and airy.
“Eternally.” He says, hand sliding higher into the tangled curtain of her hair, fingertips scrubbing against her scalp. It is a sigh of a sound, his voice.
A sincere sound.
"I am with you until the end of your years, Daughter of Denerim."
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"And now you're trapped," she says, grinning. She gives his ear a light tug. "With you til the end, I am."
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Humor pulls at the edge of his mouth. Colors the way he lets his head roll briefly with the tug of her fingertips. There's no difficulty to it, reaching across in that moment to steal one lone strip of jerky— lifting it in offering just beside Jone's cheek, ensuring she's struck by yet another puff of stale breath as jagged rows of teeth gently close around dried meat, tugging insistently until he lets go.
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She pushes a hand out, poking him in the shoulder. "Arse. Starting to regret my anointed kindness."
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Much as he'd riled her, he wishes only to have her near.
"And here I've been grateful for it."
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"How grateful?"
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A sincere sound.
"I am with you until the end of your years, Daughter of Denerim."