“You would be distracted regardless.” Noah counters, leaning into the kiss she affords him with all the pressing need of a touch-starved hound. At odds with the image he otherwise cuts from stern features and harsher stares, made docile in her hold, her assurance— her adoration, for a man that has never known the luxury of it otherwise.
At times, he wonders if she remains certain that his loyalty will fade.
Warm breath wafts over him as she laughs. Jone holds him close, like the precious, beloved thing he is.
"'Cos you're lovely," she murmurs into his hairline. "Don't forget that."
She isn't thinking of her death and his agelessness. She thinks of how he'll one day tire of her-- it feels unlikely now, but it's distinctly possible. Not inevitable, but... not unheard of.
"The more you speak of it," He murmurs, the words almost lazy for his listlessness, and lacking in bite regardless. "The more tempted I become to remain in armor."
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At times, he wonders if she remains certain that his loyalty will fade.
He never asks.
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"'Cos you're lovely," she murmurs into his hairline. "Don't forget that."
She isn't thinking of her death and his agelessness. She thinks of how he'll one day tire of her-- it feels unlikely now, but it's distinctly possible. Not inevitable, but... not unheard of.
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