[They hit the same line at different emphasis points, but the petulant little nose wrinkle is the same. But protesting really does make him sound as though he is, and that's annoying. Annoying, too, the way his stomach has started to flutter, his heart beating a little faster as they work.
Intimacy is such a lax affair within the Moulin Rouge. Sex and all that comes with it are easily exchanged, offered up between performers and prostitutes as stress relief or to stave off boredom. Even Fenris has gotten propositioned more than once, though he's never taken anyone up on the offer. There are petty jealousies, of course, and rivalries that only grow more heated when it comes to who chooses what bed to lie in, but still: no one thinks of it as anything personal.
And nor will they, he tells himself firmly. This isn't anything more than practice, and the fact that they two are so comfortable with one another is just bonus. There's no reason to be nervous. There's no reason for his words to stick in the back of his throat, nor for his palms to stay a little damp even after he's wiped them off on his trousers.]
I— [A swift swallow, and then:] I simply do not relish the thought of having to wake up early tomorrow because of you.
[He jerks his head as he comes around the bar. The bottles are, if not neatly put away, at least marginally acceptable, and that will have to do for now. Fenris leads the way back, his head half-turned as he speaks.]
What is there to focus on, anyway?
[It's a real question, even as he hops up on the ladder and takes it two rungs at a time. Their secret spot is still pleasingly secluded, even now, and he feels a sense of satisfaction as he ducks past a wooden beam and settles in there.]
Most people manage it without any training at all.
no subject
[They hit the same line at different emphasis points, but the petulant little nose wrinkle is the same. But protesting really does make him sound as though he is, and that's annoying. Annoying, too, the way his stomach has started to flutter, his heart beating a little faster as they work.
Intimacy is such a lax affair within the Moulin Rouge. Sex and all that comes with it are easily exchanged, offered up between performers and prostitutes as stress relief or to stave off boredom. Even Fenris has gotten propositioned more than once, though he's never taken anyone up on the offer. There are petty jealousies, of course, and rivalries that only grow more heated when it comes to who chooses what bed to lie in, but still: no one thinks of it as anything personal.
And nor will they, he tells himself firmly. This isn't anything more than practice, and the fact that they two are so comfortable with one another is just bonus. There's no reason to be nervous. There's no reason for his words to stick in the back of his throat, nor for his palms to stay a little damp even after he's wiped them off on his trousers.]
I— [A swift swallow, and then:] I simply do not relish the thought of having to wake up early tomorrow because of you.
[He jerks his head as he comes around the bar. The bottles are, if not neatly put away, at least marginally acceptable, and that will have to do for now. Fenris leads the way back, his head half-turned as he speaks.]
What is there to focus on, anyway?
[It's a real question, even as he hops up on the ladder and takes it two rungs at a time. Their secret spot is still pleasingly secluded, even now, and he feels a sense of satisfaction as he ducks past a wooden beam and settles in there.]
Most people manage it without any training at all.