[ If there's one thing to be said about November, is that he always seems to toe the line. He weighs his options, risk vs reward. Contractor and Human. Which mask is better to shed in which situation. Work with the fear of discovery or shrug it away. Here, they absolutely could have another host walk in, could have someone flushing with shame.
Not himself, of course.
He's toeing the line again, with Annie. She's unfurled along their link and it feels so intimate, personal, that he almost backs off. It's like she's stripped down to nothing, but he nakedness has never been this raw before. Both sides of herself are there, the bleak monster that looms over and through. Her colorful personality that feels like a warm fire, like a breeze, a caress. November sinks into it, lets it adjust all around his iced over edges, the cold parts that run layers deep.
In a way, he feels like he doesn't has as much to offer. His own colors are muted or clean– whites, cream, blue. Some sections run purple where the red sits buried. But even with the chill and unperturbed waters, there's the smell of fresh linen and mint. A warm cup of Earl Grey. Smoothly, those lines twist between the ecstatic patterns of Annie's mind and everything feels like it vibrates, like it shudders.
Dimly, he's aware that there's a gasp, out of shock, out of the nerves firing as though someone's run nails along his spine. He can see why someone could get so easily addicted to this. The closeness is almost as unbearable as it is comforting and exhilarating. A startled laugh comes bubbling up and he holds her close, hands wrapped around her waist and sliding up her sides. He feels the echo of it on his skin, feels her fingers grab hold and stay. ]
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Not himself, of course.
He's toeing the line again, with Annie. She's unfurled along their link and it feels so intimate, personal, that he almost backs off. It's like she's stripped down to nothing, but he nakedness has never been this raw before. Both sides of herself are there, the bleak monster that looms over and through. Her colorful personality that feels like a warm fire, like a breeze, a caress. November sinks into it, lets it adjust all around his iced over edges, the cold parts that run layers deep.
In a way, he feels like he doesn't has as much to offer. His own colors are muted or clean– whites, cream, blue. Some sections run purple where the red sits buried. But even with the chill and unperturbed waters, there's the smell of fresh linen and mint. A warm cup of Earl Grey. Smoothly, those lines twist between the ecstatic patterns of Annie's mind and everything feels like it vibrates, like it shudders.
Dimly, he's aware that there's a gasp, out of shock, out of the nerves firing as though someone's run nails along his spine. He can see why someone could get so easily addicted to this. The closeness is almost as unbearable as it is comforting and exhilarating. A startled laugh comes bubbling up and he holds her close, hands wrapped around her waist and sliding up her sides. He feels the echo of it on his skin, feels her fingers grab hold and stay. ]