#00.02 Diego Hargreeves 🔪 The Kraken (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deadlycurves) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
f20202020-09-08 07:05 am
deadlycurves) wrote in f20202020-09-08 07:05 am
deadlycurves) wrote in f20202020-09-08 07:05 am
end or yours to wrap!
Never in the world had there been two words that could be so simple, yet also promise so much, that could make his heartbeat thunder in his ears and his words catch in his throat and his mouth go dry as he loses the ability to respond. He's still stunned into silence for a second, thinking through the implications, the possibilities.
Then: "'That I have perceived nothing completely, that tomorrow a new walk is a new walk,'" Luther says, and his voice has that gentle rhythmic cadence that she can recognise so well, which means he's quoting... something. That mental archive runs deep and she can usually recognise the classical quotations that he'd memorised from Shakespeare, from Homer, but this particular line of poetry is unfamiliar. But it doesn't matter, because the sentiment's still there, resting on another man's language to get the point across. And finally he's able to muster up two words of his own, and it's just a simple: "Can we," he asks, and she's mouthing Yes against his lips, his mouth.
They could wait. They could take this slow.
But they've waited more than long enough. Over ten years, by latest reckoning. Long past any attempt at patience to hold them back tonight (tonight, and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow). All the doors and windows are slamming open, and Allison's arms are still draped around his neck, and so it's easy enough for Luther's hands to slide down and pick her up into his arms, her legs hooking around his hips. They're still kissing dizzily as he starts walking, barely able to keep their hands off each other — maneuvering through the hallway, Luther stubs his foot on an endtable, swears low and under his breath against her throat while she muffles another laugh, shushing him again, trying not to wake Claire. He's trying to navigate his way half-blind through the familiar muted darkness of Allison's house, over to the unfamiliar muted darkness of her bedroom, the place he's never gone. He nudges the door shut behind them with a foot.
There's unexplored territory behind that door, in her bed, beneath the layers of clothing that they work their way under with roaming hands.
It's the first time, and about damned time — and with years more to come.