Oh, this is lovely. The flattery, the proximity, the gentle touching for touching's sake. Will's missed it for even longer than he realized. Without much thought, he lets his hands wander out, softly cupping Rosinante's face, one thumb brushing over his lips.
He can't waste this, but he doesn't want to rush it either. He's sure the chance won't present itself so easily again. He's got to maneuver this carefully, to push things gently forward to the desired end.
But then... what is the desired end, here?
Back home, this scenario always led to one thing, and he's reasonably certain that if he plays his cards right, he could get it here. But back home, all of his physical encounters with others were nothing more than fleeting and hollow. A way to scratch an itch. A means to an end. Just something he did to pass the time, because it was fun and it felt good and it didn't mean anything.
This means something, doesn't it?
Will studies Rosinante's face. His eyes, and the unbridled delight shining behind them. Rosinante wasn't just talking about Will's appearance, he was talking about him. As a person. No one does that for just a shallow, physical event. For Rosinante, this is important, this is deep and emotional. And here Will is, all ready to take advantage of that, to likely shatter a trust that wasn't easy to win for either of them. He was about to use someone he actually gives a shit about, and worse still, he feels guilty about it.
His hands drop back to his sides, and his gaze slides down to the ground. Where there was an open, even inviting posture, now he's closed himself up like a vault.
"I... we shouldn't do this. Not with—" He makes a vague gesture. Not with the fortune teller's curse, not while riding the surreal high they've gotten from circumstances they'd never be in on their own terms. Not like this.
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He can't waste this, but he doesn't want to rush it either. He's sure the chance won't present itself so easily again. He's got to maneuver this carefully, to push things gently forward to the desired end.
But then... what is the desired end, here?
Back home, this scenario always led to one thing, and he's reasonably certain that if he plays his cards right, he could get it here. But back home, all of his physical encounters with others were nothing more than fleeting and hollow. A way to scratch an itch. A means to an end. Just something he did to pass the time, because it was fun and it felt good and it didn't mean anything.
This means something, doesn't it?
Will studies Rosinante's face. His eyes, and the unbridled delight shining behind them. Rosinante wasn't just talking about Will's appearance, he was talking about him. As a person. No one does that for just a shallow, physical event. For Rosinante, this is important, this is deep and emotional. And here Will is, all ready to take advantage of that, to likely shatter a trust that wasn't easy to win for either of them. He was about to use someone he actually gives a shit about, and worse still, he feels guilty about it.
His hands drop back to his sides, and his gaze slides down to the ground. Where there was an open, even inviting posture, now he's closed himself up like a vault.
"I... we shouldn't do this. Not with—" He makes a vague gesture. Not with the fortune teller's curse, not while riding the surreal high they've gotten from circumstances they'd never be in on their own terms. Not like this.