Maeve
Maeve swallows thickly, shaking her head minutely as her thumb brushes against the sharp jut of his jaw, ghosting over the light stubble there. It isn't his job. She knows that, but what it is, what it's meant to do, that's the same. A distraction, a means to an end, simply coping because nothing else is working. Her breath is warm as she exhales against his lips, so close their noses almost brush as she settles in his lap, her free hand trailing across his skin ever so lightly.
He doesn't pull away from her. He doesn't move aside from the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes and the tilt of his head. Whether he wants her to see it or not, she doesn't miss the flush that trails up his neck or the way his fingers twitch against the cushions of the couch, steel gaze finding hers once more. "I won't tell." Because she knows that's a concern. She knows he worries about what people might think, but they already think it every time he steps foot into her room whether he wishes them to or not.
"Just this once..." Because that's all she needs, she thinks. One night of distraction, one night of sound sleep, one night where the fact that her bed is empty doesn't leave her aching more than she already does. Her head dips, lips barely brushing along his jaw, not daring to kiss him despite how she yearns to taste his skin. Se's flush against him now, body soft and warm and pliant, molding against his easily. "Bête, s'il te plait. I want to forget for a little bit and I don't have another way." A way that won't hurt her or the baby. This is all she has and he's one of the few she trusts while she's like this. So broken and vulnerable. Just as he trusted her.
He doesn't pull away from her. He doesn't move aside from the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes and the tilt of his head. Whether he wants her to see it or not, she doesn't miss the flush that trails up his neck or the way his fingers twitch against the cushions of the couch, steel gaze finding hers once more. "I won't tell." Because she knows that's a concern. She knows he worries about what people might think, but they already think it every time he steps foot into her room whether he wishes them to or not.
"Just this once..." Because that's all she needs, she thinks. One night of distraction, one night of sound sleep, one night where the fact that her bed is empty doesn't leave her aching more than she already does. Her head dips, lips barely brushing along his jaw, not daring to kiss him despite how she yearns to taste his skin. Se's flush against him now, body soft and warm and pliant, molding against his easily. "Bête, s'il te plait. I want to forget for a little bit and I don't have another way." A way that won't hurt her or the baby. This is all she has and he's one of the few she trusts while she's like this. So broken and vulnerable. Just as he trusted her.
NO ONE WANTS YOU WHEN YOU HAVE NO HEART
AND I’M SITTING PRETTY IN MY BRAND NEW SCARS
AND I’M SITTING PRETTY IN MY BRAND NEW SCARS
