Barely breathing, her heart stuttering from the lack of oxygen, Amber steeled herself for the worst. No. She hadn't thought it possible, but she stiffened more; Eric was going to deny what he wanted. A liar through and through. At least his face had the decency of spilling the truth, crumbled with guilt.
If he wasn't going to come clear with her, then she saw no reason to keep faking. They didn’t both have to lie through their teeth. Amber's hands fell from his lapels and already she was calculating how to get a cab, whether to wait here or outside.
But before she could further develop the escape scenario, Eric expanded, haltingly, on that "no." That same hesitation which had so alarmed her pulled her back in, and she listened attentively, needing to hear what came next. Her hands ceased their fall midway his chest and once more she gripped his coat, the cloth bundled up in her fists.
It was as if his words were walking circles in a forest and she was losing her way following them, going deeper and deeper into the woods. There was nothing definite about what Eric said, just that he couldn't stay away; that could mean anything. He could have a fixation on her legs, for all she knew. But the earnestness of his gaze, and how suffered the sentences came out, it was as if he wanted to open up and had no idea how. Whatever he meant but couldn’t express fully, the more he spoke, the redder Amber flushed, flattered by what might be the truth, embarrassed that she had made a big deal out of what was nothing.
Worried, too, that she was misreading him again.
She exhaled sharply with the hug, her arms flying up, out of her control, to hold him back just as tightly. "Dr. Eric Foreman," she intoned into his ear, and god, the scent of him, up-close like this addled her brain all the more, "if you're lying, I will rip your ball off." She squeezed him harder, rested her head against his shoulder. If it were possible, she'd will him to cast no more problems, so that she close the distance and kiss his throat, lick the salt of skin; so that things could be as they should.
no subject
If he wasn't going to come clear with her, then she saw no reason to keep faking. They didn’t both have to lie through their teeth. Amber's hands fell from his lapels and already she was calculating how to get a cab, whether to wait here or outside.
But before she could further develop the escape scenario, Eric expanded, haltingly, on that "no." That same hesitation which had so alarmed her pulled her back in, and she listened attentively, needing to hear what came next. Her hands ceased their fall midway his chest and once more she gripped his coat, the cloth bundled up in her fists.
It was as if his words were walking circles in a forest and she was losing her way following them, going deeper and deeper into the woods. There was nothing definite about what Eric said, just that he couldn't stay away; that could mean anything. He could have a fixation on her legs, for all she knew. But the earnestness of his gaze, and how suffered the sentences came out, it was as if he wanted to open up and had no idea how. Whatever he meant but couldn’t express fully, the more he spoke, the redder Amber flushed, flattered by what might be the truth, embarrassed that she had made a big deal out of what was nothing.
Worried, too, that she was misreading him again.
She exhaled sharply with the hug, her arms flying up, out of her control, to hold him back just as tightly. "Dr. Eric Foreman," she intoned into his ear, and god, the scent of him, up-close like this addled her brain all the more, "if you're lying, I will rip your ball off." She squeezed him harder, rested her head against his shoulder. If it were possible, she'd will him to cast no more problems, so that she close the distance and kiss his throat, lick the salt of skin; so that things could be as they should.