[ Tackled, but not wholly surprised by this turn of events, Aventurine laughs as his back hits the mattress again. The faint huff of music catches between their mouths when Sunday leans in to kiss him again. In short order, Aventurine stretches arms up, wraps them around Sunday's back to hold him close.
Sunday is so unbearably earnest, so eager to promise something positively spiritual from these first, joyously clumsy moments of intimacy. It's wonderful, too sweet to find any reason to deride his almost innocent, guileless endeavors. Aventurine cannot deny that Sunday needs something more solid, more harsh than the Sweet Dream to start building expectations of life and reality, but he is also reluctant to set such strict boundaries here.
He likes this, Sunday's intensity, the certainty of his feeling. Perhaps it is wrong, indulging, encouraging. For now, today, after weeks of plotting and days of taut silence and travel, he does not care. ]
Bring me wherever you want. Just tell me where we're going first, and I'll adapt.
[ With a soft snicker, Aventurine flattens his palms against Sunday's back and drags them up and down, as affectionate as they are encouraging of more.
He is not blind. He knows who the former Bronze Melodia was and, in many ways, still is. There is a wall that Aventurine ordinarily would not be interesting in overcoming. Here, with Sunday in particular, though, it is a barrier that he thinks will be fun to topple, to tear down brick by brick.
First, though, the stage must be set for deconstruction. ]
As long as you tell me, clearly, what you want, as long as you listen to my own limits, I will follow you anywhere.
[ Another light peck, clumsily pressed to the sharp tip of Sunday's perfect nose. ]
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Sunday is so unbearably earnest, so eager to promise something positively spiritual from these first, joyously clumsy moments of intimacy. It's wonderful, too sweet to find any reason to deride his almost innocent, guileless endeavors. Aventurine cannot deny that Sunday needs something more solid, more harsh than the Sweet Dream to start building expectations of life and reality, but he is also reluctant to set such strict boundaries here.
He likes this, Sunday's intensity, the certainty of his feeling. Perhaps it is wrong, indulging, encouraging. For now, today, after weeks of plotting and days of taut silence and travel, he does not care. ]
Bring me wherever you want. Just tell me where we're going first, and I'll adapt.
[ With a soft snicker, Aventurine flattens his palms against Sunday's back and drags them up and down, as affectionate as they are encouraging of more.
He is not blind. He knows who the former Bronze Melodia was and, in many ways, still is. There is a wall that Aventurine ordinarily would not be interesting in overcoming. Here, with Sunday in particular, though, it is a barrier that he thinks will be fun to topple, to tear down brick by brick.
First, though, the stage must be set for deconstruction. ]
As long as you tell me, clearly, what you want, as long as you listen to my own limits, I will follow you anywhere.
[ Another light peck, clumsily pressed to the sharp tip of Sunday's perfect nose. ]
So, yeah. Show me paradise.