[It ought to bother him that his shirt is damp, but it doesn't. It ought to be gross and clingy and uncomfortable, but it isn't. It barely even registers, and when it does it's only because it confirms that Polnareff did manage to let some of his grief out, and that he and his shoulder and his shirt were there while he did it, and really that's all that matters right now.
Even when he pulls away, he does his best to make sure their contact doesn't break entirely. Even when he lets Polnareff have his space to get himself together, or to attempt it, he makes sure there's still a hand on his arm, a knee brushing a knee — something so that they're still connected, so there's still proof he's not alone.]
That's your go-to joke. ...That.
[He says it softly, as recognition gradually washes over him; rising to the bait goes by the wayside in favor of studying Polnareff carefully, the drying remains of salt on his cheeks.]
...It's not really just about trying to be my Shih Tzu up Sex Mountain, is it.
no subject
Even when he pulls away, he does his best to make sure their contact doesn't break entirely. Even when he lets Polnareff have his space to get himself together, or to attempt it, he makes sure there's still a hand on his arm, a knee brushing a knee — something so that they're still connected, so there's still proof he's not alone.]
That's your go-to joke. ...That.
[He says it softly, as recognition gradually washes over him; rising to the bait goes by the wayside in favor of studying Polnareff carefully, the drying remains of salt on his cheeks.]
...It's not really just about trying to be my Shih Tzu up Sex Mountain, is it.