[Sniper fumbled with his clothing, still shaking from the effort required to maintain his composure. It was becoming easier with each passing breath, the flush of his face dissipating. He grabbed his glasses and watch from the dirty pile, feeling more secure behind his tinted frames.]
It's not that. You're ver—
[He cut himself off, taking another breath as he rotated his shoulders, trying not to think of that feeling of a hot flame against his lips.]
Look, even if we didn't work together, this wouldn't be appropriate. You—
[Another cutoff. Suggesting she find someone her age in Paradise seemed laughable, given that most people he'd met were older than her or talking animals. Somehow, he didn't think either of those was any better than the two of them. At least they understood one another, both being mercenaries. She knew how important the job was to him, that he wasn't just some crazed gunman hellbent on murder.
He caught himself rationalizing an unprofessional relationship with her. Shaking his head, he tried again.]
Well, when we get back—
[And another stop- when was the key word there, but it could easily be replaced with if. There was no guarantee they'd get back to Sawmill and their time at all, or if they'd go together or even remember their time in Paradise if they did. It didn't really matter what he did then, did it?
He shook his head again, alarmed at how easy it was to bat away his concerns when the temptation of having her pressed against him danced in front of his eyes. He wasn't weak, he told himself. This was ridiculous.
He was silent another moment, trying to put together a good defense, or a plan, or anything.]
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branchandroot
[Action]
Date: 2012-01-23 12:54 am (UTC)It's not that. You're ver—
[He cut himself off, taking another breath as he rotated his shoulders, trying not to think of that feeling of a hot flame against his lips.]
Look, even if we didn't work together, this wouldn't be appropriate. You—
[Another cutoff. Suggesting she find someone her age in Paradise seemed laughable, given that most people he'd met were older than her or talking animals. Somehow, he didn't think either of those was any better than the two of them. At least they understood one another, both being mercenaries. She knew how important the job was to him, that he wasn't just some crazed gunman hellbent on murder.
He caught himself rationalizing an unprofessional relationship with her. Shaking his head, he tried again.]
Well, when we get back—
[And another stop- when was the key word there, but it could easily be replaced with if. There was no guarantee they'd get back to Sawmill and their time at all, or if they'd go together or even remember their time in Paradise if they did. It didn't really matter what he did then, did it?
He shook his head again, alarmed at how easy it was to bat away his concerns when the temptation of having her pressed against him danced in front of his eyes. He wasn't weak, he told himself. This was ridiculous.
He was silent another moment, trying to put together a good defense, or a plan, or anything.]