let your threads come undone. i like you better bare
Oliver might have been the weakest of the hybrids, at least in his opinion, but that was still more power than most people Rance had known before coming to Caido. Hearing him downplay what he'd earned, even if he admitted appreciating his blessings, had Rance shaking his head in disbelief. He wasn't sure how to react to that mix of diffidence that what he was striving toward and the admission of his skills. He wasn't the sort to lecture someone, especially for the lack of bragging, and he wasn't going to start with a good-looking stranger in the woods.
Of course, what he thought and what slipped out of his mouth were frequently two very different things. "Well, if you're workin' on not bein' that person anymore, I think you've earned the right not to call yourself 'the weakest'."
Maybe hearing a few more stories from the other man would settle Rance's confused image of the other man. Especially when it was implied that 'stories' weren't the only goal of a continued conversation. Rance felt a familiar anticipation beginning to curl up his spine, a welcome relief from the confusing muddle of emotions he'd been swimming through since looking into the puddle. This, at least, he was comfortable with. A language and a proposal that had nothing to do with strange mixtures of magic.
With the glance to his mouth, one corner of Rance's lips kicked higher. For a moment, the talk of painting and art threw him. Was he reading Oliver's body language all wrong? But no, he presented the offer like the words should mean something very different. Rance hummed and took his own half-step closer, reaching up with one hand again. He teased it along the bottom of Oliver's ear, fingers light, pausing on his jaw. "I'm afraid I don't know much about art, or what bein' a model entails. You might have to instruct me." Through the purred reply, he didn't take his eyes off Oliver's face, lips still curved into a confident smirk.
Of course, what he thought and what slipped out of his mouth were frequently two very different things. "Well, if you're workin' on not bein' that person anymore, I think you've earned the right not to call yourself 'the weakest'."
Maybe hearing a few more stories from the other man would settle Rance's confused image of the other man. Especially when it was implied that 'stories' weren't the only goal of a continued conversation. Rance felt a familiar anticipation beginning to curl up his spine, a welcome relief from the confusing muddle of emotions he'd been swimming through since looking into the puddle. This, at least, he was comfortable with. A language and a proposal that had nothing to do with strange mixtures of magic.
With the glance to his mouth, one corner of Rance's lips kicked higher. For a moment, the talk of painting and art threw him. Was he reading Oliver's body language all wrong? But no, he presented the offer like the words should mean something very different. Rance hummed and took his own half-step closer, reaching up with one hand again. He teased it along the bottom of Oliver's ear, fingers light, pausing on his jaw. "I'm afraid I don't know much about art, or what bein' a model entails. You might have to instruct me." Through the purred reply, he didn't take his eyes off Oliver's face, lips still curved into a confident smirk.
RANCE
