And he knows it. And he can't quite properly express it beyond a worried sort of bumping of his nose against her forehead, because he needs to rest his head against the wall if he doesn't want it to explode.
Which isn't so much what he wants but is seeming to be very much what he needs, at the moment. He needs to curl up with his face against her neck and not think when it makes his entire heart lurch this way and that.
"Okay. Tell you what... you wait here a few minutes and I'll get everything ready?"
There's a bed to turn down, water to have ready because he needs it, maybe one of the wastebaskets just in case... And it seems likely to her the best course of action is to just get him dried off and directly into bed.
She kisses his forehead, slowly getting to her feet. "Do you want clothes or do you just want to get right in bed?"
"No clothes," she echoes, grabbing one of the towels. She dries herself off quickly and then wraps it around herself--look, that's what the man said, no clothes.
The sounds of her moving around the apartment are hopefully unobtrusive: glass filled in the kitchen with water, ferried to the bedside; thermostat adjusted; bed turned down; wastebasket near the dresser emptied and moved closer to the bed (though he'd likely have already been sick were it to be the case, she's always planning for any eventuality); lights elsewhere turned off and all the other usual going-to-bed tasks.
Eventually she reappears, leaning down to touch his arm. "Cynric. Ready?"
Her nudity is never objected to. Ever. Even just knowing she might be naked while he's not there is sometimes an incredibly lovely thing.
And it's absolutely something he'll be pleased to see when his eyes reopen, after a dozing stretch of enjoying the little sounds which mean she's there, even if she's not curled up on top of him anymore.
Stretching in the tub is not a comfortable thing. She'll have to forgive his little groan. "...yes."
She understands. Stretching out will be a lot better, easier, in bed. It was a brilliant idea on his part, really, the necessity of lying down as he sobers up aside.
"Come on." Her voice is as soft and gentle as her hand on his arm, which now shifts to take his elbow. "Let me help you up. We'll get you dried off and right into bed, you'll feel better."
It's possible he fell very slightly asleep in the tub waiting. It makes his words a little mumbled, his attention a little flighty now that he's dragging into wakefulness again. Drunk sleep is good sleep, after all.
She waits, hand still on his elbow. If he needs a minute or two, it's fine. There's no rush. And she'd rather not have him topple trying to get his feet half-awake.
She'll have to remember, in the morning, when he's ready to hear it, what a genius he was. Suggesting bed to stretch out. Insisting she skip clothes she would've gotten damp right away as he leans on her.
But now her focus is entirely on looking after him. On getting him dried off as best she can, drawing a towel over him while holding him up.
"Okay to the bedroom now," and she draws his arm across her shoulders. "Ready?"
He does a good job being pliant and calm, not squirming or resisting her ministrations. He doesn't do such a good job helping, but he can hardly be expected to at this point.
Being instructed to properly hold onto her is lovely. It also gets him nuzzling contentedly at her neck... which, to be fair, isn't at all helpful for balance.
She wasn't expecting help; she's done this often enough in the past, and not gotten it, to have expected it here. It's all right. She knows she's also pretty useless after a certain amount of alcohol.
She laughs, she sound tapering off into a pleased little him as she puts her arm around his waist, catching a bit more of his weight. "I've got you," she says softly. "We're going out the door and across to the bedroom."
It takes a bit longer than it normally would, but they manage it. She turns them both as they reach the bed, so she can sit, nearly getting him seated beside her. It's far more elegant than dumping him onto the bed or letting go and hoping for the best.
She's got him. She's got him and she's got a plan and the world feels very warm and nice once all that's true.
Even better, of course, is actually getting to the bed. Actually being allowed to squirm out of her hold and be properly flopped across the bed. It's a good bed. It's a bed for stretching out on and a bed that smells like her. It's his favourite bed.
He's flopped over, so she has to crawl over his legs to reach the middle of the bed. She curls into his side, drawing the covers partway up. She drapes her arm gently across his body.
"Go back to sleep for a bit, mm?" She can try getting some water into him if he wakes later.
A successful 'boo' it was, then, if the result was having Rachel curled up against him in bed. A very successful 'boo' indeed. And a 'boo' which he regrets not at all, since it allows him to just squirm and wrap happily around her with a properly tight squish of limbs.
"Yes'm."
Sleep he can do. Sleep he can do if she lets him nuzzle comfortably in like this, face buried against her hair and arms tight and safe around her.
But first there's a minor bit of squirming. Her arm raises, hand sliding up the back of his neck to rub soothing little circles there, and further up into his hair.
It's more statement than question as he lets his spine stretch briefly, head arching back just briefly against the touch of her fingers. It's important that, at least for the moment, forever is being thought of--and feeling like an important fact to state.
It startles her to hear it given voice, to hear the word said out loud.
But it's true. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't thinking the very same thing right now. Or if the idea hadn't crossed her mind every other time she'd said--promised--that she'd be right here.
"Yes." She doesn't qualify it, doesn't try to mitigate it with anything like if I can or if you want. Don't they both understand that by now? Neither of them is doing of allowing anything they don't both want.
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And he knows it. And he can't quite properly express it beyond a worried sort of bumping of his nose against her forehead, because he needs to rest his head against the wall if he doesn't want it to explode.
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And she smiles then, her usual properly warm one reasserting itself. That fades after a few moments, her expression tinged with concern.
"Do you need some water? Or anything else?"
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Which isn't so much what he wants but is seeming to be very much what he needs, at the moment. He needs to curl up with his face against her neck and not think when it makes his entire heart lurch this way and that.
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There's a bed to turn down, water to have ready because he needs it, maybe one of the wastebaskets just in case... And it seems likely to her the best course of action is to just get him dried off and directly into bed.
She kisses his forehead, slowly getting to her feet. "Do you want clothes or do you just want to get right in bed?"
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"Boooo." Water is splashed after her, his eyes shifting closed for a moment. "No clothes."
Never again.
Well, maybe again when he was sober.
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The sounds of her moving around the apartment are hopefully unobtrusive: glass filled in the kitchen with water, ferried to the bedside; thermostat adjusted; bed turned down; wastebasket near the dresser emptied and moved closer to the bed (though he'd likely have already been sick were it to be the case, she's always planning for any eventuality); lights elsewhere turned off and all the other usual going-to-bed tasks.
Eventually she reappears, leaning down to touch his arm. "Cynric. Ready?"
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And it's absolutely something he'll be pleased to see when his eyes reopen, after a dozing stretch of enjoying the little sounds which mean she's there, even if she's not curled up on top of him anymore.
Stretching in the tub is not a comfortable thing. She'll have to forgive his little groan. "...yes."
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"Come on." Her voice is as soft and gentle as her hand on his arm, which now shifts to take his elbow. "Let me help you up. We'll get you dried off and right into bed, you'll feel better."
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It's possible he fell very slightly asleep in the tub waiting. It makes his words a little mumbled, his attention a little flighty now that he's dragging into wakefulness again. Drunk sleep is good sleep, after all.
"...and you... come too, mm...?"
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She waits, hand still on his elbow. If he needs a minute or two, it's fine. There's no rush. And she'd rather not have him topple trying to get his feet half-awake.
"Whenever you're ready."
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Slowly, admittedly. And just a bit unsteadily. She can expect to be clung to damply.
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But now her focus is entirely on looking after him. On getting him dried off as best she can, drawing a towel over him while holding him up.
"Okay to the bedroom now," and she draws his arm across her shoulders. "Ready?"
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Being instructed to properly hold onto her is lovely. It also gets him nuzzling contentedly at her neck... which, to be fair, isn't at all helpful for balance.
"Hm."
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She laughs, she sound tapering off into a pleased little him as she puts her arm around his waist, catching a bit more of his weight. "I've got you," she says softly. "We're going out the door and across to the bedroom."
It takes a bit longer than it normally would, but they manage it. She turns them both as they reach the bed, so she can sit, nearly getting him seated beside her. It's far more elegant than dumping him onto the bed or letting go and hoping for the best.
"Can you get some water in you?"
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Even better, of course, is actually getting to the bed. Actually being allowed to squirm out of her hold and be properly flopped across the bed. It's a good bed. It's a bed for stretching out on and a bed that smells like her. It's his favourite bed.
"...boooo."
It's his sound for the evening.
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He's flopped over, so she has to crawl over his legs to reach the middle of the bed. She curls into his side, drawing the covers partway up. She drapes her arm gently across his body.
"Go back to sleep for a bit, mm?" She can try getting some water into him if he wakes later.
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"Yes'm."
Sleep he can do. Sleep he can do if she lets him nuzzle comfortably in like this, face buried against her hair and arms tight and safe around her.
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But first there's a minor bit of squirming. Her arm raises, hand sliding up the back of his neck to rub soothing little circles there, and further up into his hair.
"I'll be right here."
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It's more statement than question as he lets his spine stretch briefly, head arching back just briefly against the touch of her fingers. It's important that, at least for the moment, forever is being thought of--and feeling like an important fact to state.
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But it's true. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't thinking the very same thing right now. Or if the idea hadn't crossed her mind every other time she'd said--promised--that she'd be right here.
"Yes." She doesn't qualify it, doesn't try to mitigate it with anything like if I can or if you want. Don't they both understand that by now? Neither of them is doing of allowing anything they don't both want.
"Forever."
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That's a thought he can fall asleep with buzzing in his mind, whether or not he'll be able to actually think it again in the morning.
Ooc;
Carry on? Leave it there and find another meme? I'm happy with either.
ooc;
Onward to new memes, methinks. o/
Re: ooc;
ooc;
Re: ooc;