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[WELP.

She has such a knack for horrifying him.]

Is that really necessary, Steph?

What? [It's genuine confusion, though she realizes what he's talking about only a moment later.] Oh, that. It was fine, you worry too much.

[because there's obviously nothing wrong with someone who casually talks about getting shot in the head]

[Obviously. Everything is totally fine here. Yup.

He frowns, moving to kiss her temple.]

I really don't wanna hear about that stuff.

[That makes her go silent for a little while.]

That's my whole life, Saul.

[If he doesn't want to hear about that stuff, there's not a lot left.]

[He feels like he should correct her. Was. It was her whole life, and now it's not, but he knows that so much of her is made up of all that... he can't ask her to ignore it. And he can't, either, even if it hurts, because this is who he loves: Steph, scars and all.

He mumbles a quiet "I know" against her skin, then moves again, this time to lightly kiss her lips.]

[The kiss is a relief, because it means they don't have to actually have a conversation about... whatever this is.

It's not that she couldn't be a little more careful about what she says, about mentioning things like that around him, but the problem is that she desn't want to have to censor herself. That's part of why she liked having Saul as a friend, before everthing else, she didn't feel like she needed to watch herself around him.

She doesn't want that to change, but she doesn't want to argue about it, either, so she follows up his kiss with another, parting her lips and curling her fingers around the back of his neck to keep him close.]

[He wouldn't ask her to change anything about the way she acts; he can deal with it. It's just difficult, especially during moments like this one, to think that this might have never happened — that he might have never even met her — because she almost died so many times.

But she's here, and she's warm and solid, and she's kissing him, so maybe listening to her talk like that won't be so bad as long as it's followed up with reassurances like this.

He hums against her mouth, the sound low and pleased, and brushes her hair back.]

[She's not sure if she's trying to distract him or reassure him, maybe a little of both. And maybe she needs a little bit of reassurance, too, that he's not annoyed at her for being so casual about the violence in her past.

The reason doesn't really matter, after a little while, because she gets caught up in just kissing him, in the fact they can do this, finally, and there's no guilt tearing her up.

Without breaking the kiss, she reaches back to ease her shoes off, then wriggles a little until her legs are around his waist and she can get a bit closer. She's sure he won't mind her getting comfortable in his lap.]

[It's not that he's annoyed; he's just... worried. But that seems to be a constant in his life.

Anyway, her tactic works: he's plenty distracted and just reassured enough that all those thoughts flit away, and no, he doesn't mind that at all. How could he? In fact, he thinks it's such a good idea that he toes his shoes off as well, then pulls away from her just long enough to lose his jacket and tie.

Getting comfortable, right?]

[She actually is getting comfortable, because as much as she knows where she wants this to end up, after yesterday being a bit of a frantic, desperate rush, she just wants to take her time, now.

They've spent months wanting each other and not being able to do anything about it, so now she's kissing him like they've got all the time in the world, slow and careful, as she idly skims her fingers across his shoulders and along his arm.]

[Saul's all for patience, but when one is feeling pressed to make up for lost time...

He tells himself to relax and ease into it. If this is what she wants, she can have it; his response is to sigh quietly against her mouth and weave his fingers back into her hair, gently holding her in place as a silent hint that all he wants is for her to please just keep kissing him, pretty please.]

[That's the plan.

She keeps kissing him, and though she pulls away occasionally so they can breath, she really doesn't go far, just presses light, brief kisses to his lips between the deeper kisses.

It's in those moments of light kisses that she starts working on the buttons of his shirt, finally getting them all undone so she can trace lazy, idle patterns on his chest with her fingertips.]

[On second thought, he appreciates the slowness. When she pops the last button on his shirt, he rolls his shoulders back to open it a little without moving his hands away from her, and that's when all the soreness from yesterday reasserts itself and he huffs a quiet laugh against her lips.

But then there's the fact that he's ticklish, which is making him laugh, too.

And squirm, a little.]

Hey...

[Such a weak, halfhearted protest.]

[She pulls back just a bit, because his laughter's a little contagious, and she's amused by the fact he's ticklish.]

Problem?

[Her fingers go to his shoulders, and she traces lightly over the bruises she left yesterday.

Oops.]

[Yeah, oops.

He shivers and tries really hard to ignore the way his stomach's knotting itself up. It's not an unpleasant feeling, not really, but it does make him feel a little restless. Like he needs to move, or do something with his hands, or...

Hands. Yes. Good call.

He places them on her knees, sliding his palms up to settle on her hips.]

No problem.

So you're not ticklish?

[She says, as her fingers skim down his sides.]

N—

[Fuck.

He's not giggling. It just sounds a lot like giggling. And all that squirming? He's just getting more comfortable, that's all.]

No.

That's cute.

[He's cute.

And she's still tickling him, just a little.]

[HE'S NOT CUTE.

Shut up.

What if he kisses her? Will that make her stop?]

[Yes.

She just goes back to resting her hands on his shoulders and will happily kiss him for as long as he wants.]

["As long as he wants" is a pretty long time, but eventually, he breaks away and re-focuses his attention on her neck.

The way he's kissing her skin is almost reverential — slow, a little cautious, and heated. If they're taking it slow today, that's fine, but she better be prepared to handle the lazy build he's planning.

And while he's doing that, his fingers find the hem of her shirt and push their way underneath, sweeping up her sides and down her back.

He doesn't spend any time lingering on her scars, but he does touch them. Unlike the last time this happened, though, there's no change in his pacing, no hint of desperation or fear in his actions.]

[She can handle anything he throws her way.

And she can enjoy, too, tilting her head with a soft, pleased sigh, giving him more access to her skin so he can keep kissing her like that. It's nice, and she can't really think of a time when anyone's treated her the way Saul does, when anyone's kissed her like he's kissing her now. Vanadi was fun, but with him she wouldn't really have stayed still long enough for moments like this, if he'd even be inclined to that sort of thing.

And Ellie was-- They were both still figuring things out, so she was always careful to keep things a little lighter, a little easier.

This is different, and it makes something in her chest ache, especially when his hands slip under her shirt.]

Saul...

[Her voice sounds a bit distance, almost a little lost, as if she's asking a question that she doesn't want to know the answer to.

Her heart's beating too fast.]

Shh.

[For all that Saul likes to talk, talk, talk and hypnotize people with the lilt and rhythm of his words, he's of the opinion that actions sometimes do speak a little louder.

Or convey more, at least. He can tell her he loves her until he's blue in the face, and she can say she knows, but he doesn't think she really understand how deep this goes for him. He's putting a lot on the line for her, for this relationship (or whatever it is) — but he wants it all so, so badly that he can't imagine not doing it.

He'd be miserable.

He traces her skin like he's trying to memorize the way she feels, his touch firm but gentle. And when his lips finally travel up to meet her ear, he pauses for a few seconds, just breathing.]

[And she shuts up.

She can talk her way through almost anything, as was evidenced yesterday when she had a hard time not talking back at any opportunity, but that doesn't feel anything like this. It feels important to stay quiet and just enjoy this, without trying to make any smart remarks or run her mouth, even if the temptation is there, because she doesn't like feeling so flustered and caught off guard.

She tries to stay still, too, though that's a little more difficult. By the time he stops to breathe, she's squirming under his touch, her breathing a little too shallow and her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. She's expecting him to say something when he stops kissing her, so after those seconds of silence she makes a sound somewhere between a whimper and an inquiry, wondering what's doing.]

[What he's doing is —

He's not sure what he's doing. It feels a little like he's in a trance; he can't focus on anything but her and how she's breathing and how warm her skin is and how much he wants her.

It takes a little reminding that he has her, finally, but that doesn't stop the sudden ache in his chest from spreading out all over. The sigh that's drawn out of him as a result takes the shape of her name — and with that, he's finally able to pay her proper attention again, lips catching her earlobe.]

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