Even though she'd already stopped herself as fast as her hands had lifted, it's the way that Luther's eyes snap to the movement, a stillness so sharp, tense, reticent it might as well have been a cringe, and Allison crosses her arms again. Not the same way as earlier. Lower, under her chest, for a moment, both sets of her fingers hooking her elbows.
Even at their best, even occasionally casual, it's never quite normal. And it's even less acceptable in not normal. (How is it she only wants to more, now?)
Her fingertips press light into the bones jointed there, under such thin skin, as Luther doesn't say to just go, that's he's still done, and she finds herself swallowing. Hopeful for even a partial tenuous inch of the same words not just restated. That he doesn't get up, jut watches her at first.
But then he does start talking, and Allison can feel her heart restart somewhere under the breath she pulls in. Not promised anything specific, any length or depth, but not sent away again either. But he's talking and for a moment she tries to hold her tongue. Curb any impulse. But it's already shifting. No. Shifted.
When it was someone else, anyone else, it wouldn't have mattered. What happened to them. If they hurt themselves. Even died in the process. But it's not someone else. Anyone else. It's Luther. It's. Luther.
Suddenly everything matters. Deeper than words. Anchoring her down with his voice -- rough, familiar, always more level and logical than emotional; at least on the surface, the part he made for everyone to see -- even when it's the words in that voice that make everything twist tighter and tighter in her core, too tight. Logical, but.
His earlier words keep stabbing back into her. Making her hold. Was it a joke? Was it? She can't stop looking at his face now.
The place his word's end though, causes a shift in her expression. A press of her mouth and a quirk of her eyebrows. As though his protocol is her greatest concern. As though every detail hasn't turned a millionfold. Concern is not the tactic to take with Luther like this. Even if it is the thing sinking its teeth in, bloodying her skin. Her heart.
Allison has always been smart, but ruled by her emotions. It takes a few seconds to land on a question that feels safe.
no subject
Even at their best, even occasionally casual, it's never quite normal.
And it's even less acceptable in not normal. (How is it she only wants to more, now?)
Her fingertips press light into the bones jointed there, under such thin skin, as Luther doesn't say to just go, that's he's still done, and she finds herself swallowing. Hopeful for even a partial tenuous inch of the same words not just restated. That he doesn't get up, jut watches her at first.
But then he does start talking, and Allison can feel her heart restart somewhere under the breath she pulls in. Not promised anything specific, any length or depth, but not sent away again either. But he's talking and for a moment she tries to hold her tongue. Curb any impulse. But it's already shifting. No. Shifted.
When it was someone else, anyone else, it wouldn't have mattered.
What happened to them. If they hurt themselves. Even died in the process.
But it's not someone else. Anyone else. It's Luther. It's. Luther.
Suddenly everything matters. Deeper than words. Anchoring her down with his voice -- rough, familiar, always more level and logical than emotional; at least on the surface, the part he made for everyone to see -- even when it's the words in that voice that make everything twist tighter and tighter in her core, too tight. Logical, but.
His earlier words keep stabbing back into her. Making her hold.
Was it a joke? Was it? She can't stop looking at his face now.
The place his word's end though, causes a shift in her expression. A press of her mouth and a quirk of her eyebrows. As though his protocol is her greatest concern. As though every detail hasn't turned a millionfold. Concern is not the tactic to take with Luther like this. Even if it is the thing sinking its teeth in, bloodying her skin. Her heart.
Allison has always been smart, but ruled by her emotions.
It takes a few seconds to land on a question that feels safe.
When did you start looking?