[He wheezed through his teeth, pushing himself off the floor, deciding that making it to the bed was his best option. While it would have been easiest to just ask Pyro to help him up, his stubbornness won out at that moment, temper still flared from the intrusion.
He glanced at her again, uttering another assurance that he was fine— he cut himself off, studying her face for a second before turning away. Why was she crying? Sure, it hurt like hell, but it wasn't as though she'd never seen him hurt before. On his first day, she'd been the one to cut him from a tree, after all. She'd had no problem throwing him over her shoulder to drag him to a clothing store. She'd kidnapped him from a hospital room against his expressed wishes.
She didn't do that anymore, however. She carried him carefully, aware of his condition. She glued herself into her suit, thinking it would bring him back to the base. She cried for knocking him to the floor accidentally, and as awkward as the scenario was made by her tears, he understood why. She didn't want to lose him.
His eyes returned to her. It was attachment. He saw it in her, and felt it growing in himself in spite of his obstinate denial. It had formed there without his knowing, threads between them intertwining with every moment they shared; its appearance unnerved him the more he came to terms with it. Accepting it and adapting to it was the key— there was no going back, no erasing what they'd done and what they'd shared— but that didn't mean it'd be easy.
The hardest part was knowing he had no other choice. He could deny it all he wanted, but he ultimately did want Pyro around him, at least in some physical sense. The touch of her skin against his was maddening, the smell of her absolutely intoxicating. It was just some carnal urge he'd ignored too long, he told himself. Once the itch was scratched, that'd be it. It wasn't anything deeper than that.
He caught himself denying that attachment again, but it was apparent it was there as he eyed her tear-streaked face. He turned from her again, feeling his stubbornness subside.]
Ya don't gotta cry about it. I told you I'm fine. Just... help me get on the bed.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
[Action]
Date: 2012-02-04 06:42 am (UTC)He glanced at her again, uttering another assurance that he was fine— he cut himself off, studying her face for a second before turning away. Why was she crying? Sure, it hurt like hell, but it wasn't as though she'd never seen him hurt before. On his first day, she'd been the one to cut him from a tree, after all. She'd had no problem throwing him over her shoulder to drag him to a clothing store. She'd kidnapped him from a hospital room against his expressed wishes.
She didn't do that anymore, however. She carried him carefully, aware of his condition. She glued herself into her suit, thinking it would bring him back to the base. She cried for knocking him to the floor accidentally, and as awkward as the scenario was made by her tears, he understood why. She didn't want to lose him.
His eyes returned to her. It was attachment. He saw it in her, and felt it growing in himself in spite of his obstinate denial. It had formed there without his knowing, threads between them intertwining with every moment they shared; its appearance unnerved him the more he came to terms with it. Accepting it and adapting to it was the key— there was no going back, no erasing what they'd done and what they'd shared— but that didn't mean it'd be easy.
The hardest part was knowing he had no other choice. He could deny it all he wanted, but he ultimately did want Pyro around him, at least in some physical sense. The touch of her skin against his was maddening, the smell of her absolutely intoxicating. It was just some carnal urge he'd ignored too long, he told himself. Once the itch was scratched, that'd be it. It wasn't anything deeper than that.
He caught himself denying that attachment again, but it was apparent it was there as he eyed her tear-streaked face. He turned from her again, feeling his stubbornness subside.]
Ya don't gotta cry about it. I told you I'm fine. Just... help me get on the bed.