That's so familiar it hurts, like they've both stuck their hand into the same fire and have the same scars to prove it. "I understand. I'm... similarly inexperienced at maintaining an individual identity in relationships," he says, as if this is news to her, as if he doesn't have his ex's symbol still pierced through his ear. "But I want to do this right, too."
He might doubt her assertion, or assume it would be true in only the most technical sense (kissing would meet the qualifications as stated), he knows her well enough to know that she is brilliant enough to look impossibility in the face and laugh.
Gale rushes to meet her, taking her arm again and hurrying home, whether to keep her from saying things like that in public anymore or because he's eager to begin the evening's festivities isn't clear.
(It's definitely both.)
When they get back to the tower, he opens the door for her, gentlemanly as always, and sweeps into the kitchen to look for a vase to put the flowers in.
"Did you really want to make dinner, or would you prefer that I do it? I don't mind," says Gale Acts-of-Service Dekarios into the cabinet he's searching.
Harley giggles and sneaks flirty touches all the way home.
She grabs his hips and moves him away from the cabinet to take over. "Sounds like somebody still has no faith in my cooking! You said I was getting better!" She gives him a pout over her shoulder, with no real feeling behind it. She's better in the kitchen than she used to be, but still definitely bad. They both know it. But she'll never learn without constant, repeated failure.
"You can pick the recipe and I promise, I swear, I'll stick to it. Leveled spoons and all."
"You are getting better!" he replies, his voice just a touch too high. He's
not lying, she is getting better. Her latest attempts didn't even
taste toxic.
But then again, if she asked him to light himself on fire for her, he would
probably do it, so what's a meal that's five times as spicy as it ought to
be?
"Let me find a recipe." While she searches for a vase, he gets out his
cookbook. It's not unlike his spell book, full of recipes in Gale's careful
handwriting, some of them annotated with later discoveries. He chooses a
simple chicken dish, and lays the book on the counter open to the proper
page. "How's this?"
Harley sets the vase on the table and steps up beside Gale to glance at the recipe. She barely looks at the page, instead focusing on trailing her hand up his back and nosing against his neck.
"Sure, I can give that a try." She takes the box from where it was safely tucked in her cleavage and presses it back into his hand. "Now go work on your sonnet, so you can give this back to me."
"You don't want me to remain nearby?" he asks, eyebrows raising, not exactly disappointed, more like slightly concerned.
The thing about Gale is that, in some ways, he is a very good teacher. His explanations are detailed, and he is encouraging. When mistakes happen, he doesn't get angry. His explanations are always detailed (sometimes overly so). On the other hand, he wants to be involved, to help, to make corrections --- and when things go sideways, he tries to take over completely. It's not malicious, he just can't seem to help himself when the topic is something he's good at.
"Gale my love, one room over still counts as nearby." She rolls her eyes with affection and starts pushing him out of the kitchen. "And if you keep finding new ways to make me wait to get that not-yet-confirmed-to-be-a-ring then I will throw you over the balcony."
That succeeds in making him laugh a little, easing his concern about kitchen fires. "Ah, but what good would it do you? I'm a strong swimmer, so I'd only come back."
It's fine. If there's a fire, he can come running to make sure it's put out quickly.
So he turns, gives her one more kiss, and vacates the room as asked. He doesn't make as much progress on his poem as he'd like, pausing occasionally to wonder whether he smells smoke or too much spice or whether he's imagining it.
Harley accidentally adds the salt twice, then doubles up the rest of the seasoning for the sake of ratios. Gale has talked about ratios before, so she knows that's the right thing to do at least in some contexts. Maybe this is one of those times. The chicken doesn't burn, but it does end up overcooked and dry.
Overall, disappointing but not offensive. One of her top efforts so far.
Once dinner is ready, she comes to find him. She slips her arms around his shoulders and bends to kiss the back of his neck.
Harley pulls his chair back so there's room for her to move between him and the desk. She settles on his lap, her fingers moving to stroke his nape as she moves in for another kiss.
She sighs happily and her lips brush softly along his jaw when they part. Inspiration.
"Hey," she noses at the tender skin under his ear. "Cast detect thoughts."
His hands move to hold her hips, and he smiles up at her with his puppy
eyed expression.
"Are you sure?" He asks reflexively, eyebrows furrowing. Of course she's
sure, she's the one who'd asked him to do it, but he always wants her to
have that chance to refuse him.
"If you say so, then so be it." He lifts his hands to cast the spell with
quick, precise little movements.
She kisses that smile, making herself soft and sweet in a way that doesn't come naturally. Or at least it hadn't for a very long time, until Gale.
It's not a request she makes often, but sometimes her thoughts and feelings are too big to fit into words. This is the compromise that stops her from walking away to escape that feeling.
Her thoughts aren't formed in words so much as swirling tides of emotions. They threaten to drown her sometimes, but what she feels now -- and what he feels as he detects her thoughts -- is the sweet golden warmth of love. She loves him fiercely, deeply, unquestionably. There is nothing she wouldn't do to keep him, and she has a bone deep certainty that they will make a future together.
And also, that she really really really wants to choke on his cock. But mostly the first thing!
That honeyed warmth is equal parts sweet and ferocious, rushing over him
until he's submerged in the depths of her love. It's wonderful and
overwhelming to feel such affection that asks nothing from him in return,
not power or knowledge or accomplishment, only that he keep on living
despite she odds. His tear ducts and sinuses prickle with the effort not to
cry, and—
Oh! The surprise breaks the spell, and she feels it like he stumbled
out of the room that is her mind. He blushes deeply, and it takes a couple
of false starts before he manages proper words. "I love you too, even if
you do tease me far more than I deserve." His hands land on her legs again,
except he's sliding them under her, scooping her up in his arms as he
sweeps out of the study. "If I can't satisfy one appetite, I suppose I'll
settle for another.'
He beams at her, and thought he says nothing, that is answer enough. Hey
particular brand of teasing still sometimes manages to catch him off guard,
but he still adores it and her.
"You are a perpetual inspiration, my lovely muse," he answers. Once they're
in the kitchen, he lowers her back to the ground. He doesn't wait for her
offer before he starts sniffing around the prepared food.
"Ye-?" She's in his space before he can properly verbalize whatever he was going to say, but he doesn't care. She seems to be the one person entirely capable of shutting him up for any significant amount of time. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in close, forgetting hunger for anything other than her.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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All the mess and broken edges and uncertain futures. She'll hold every piece of himself that he doesn't love and tuck him next to her heart.
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"Then perhaps we should get home? So you can keep me in private." This time, he waggles his eyebrows at her.
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"I'm going to get my mouth on you tonight." Another promise, just as heartfelt as before.
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"Before or after you get to open your box?"
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That certainly makes her intentions clear.
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"We can't blow up the city, Harley, Tara lives here," he points out.
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"Then you'd better not come in my mouth!" she sing-songs over her shoulder. Out loud.
In. Public.
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(It's definitely both.)
When they get back to the tower, he opens the door for her, gentlemanly as always, and sweeps into the kitchen to look for a vase to put the flowers in.
"Did you really want to make dinner, or would you prefer that I do it? I don't mind," says Gale Acts-of-Service Dekarios into the cabinet he's searching.
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She grabs his hips and moves him away from the cabinet to take over. "Sounds like somebody still has no faith in my cooking! You said I was getting better!" She gives him a pout over her shoulder, with no real feeling behind it. She's better in the kitchen than she used to be, but still definitely bad. They both know it. But she'll never learn without constant, repeated failure.
"You can pick the recipe and I promise, I swear, I'll stick to it. Leveled spoons and all."
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"You are getting better!" he replies, his voice just a touch too high. He's not lying, she is getting better. Her latest attempts didn't even taste toxic.
But then again, if she asked him to light himself on fire for her, he would probably do it, so what's a meal that's five times as spicy as it ought to be?
"Let me find a recipe." While she searches for a vase, he gets out his cookbook. It's not unlike his spell book, full of recipes in Gale's careful handwriting, some of them annotated with later discoveries. He chooses a simple chicken dish, and lays the book on the counter open to the proper page. "How's this?"
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"Sure, I can give that a try." She takes the box from where it was safely tucked in her cleavage and presses it back into his hand. "Now go work on your sonnet, so you can give this back to me."
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The thing about Gale is that, in some ways, he is a very good teacher. His explanations are detailed, and he is encouraging. When mistakes happen, he doesn't get angry. His explanations are always detailed (sometimes overly so). On the other hand, he wants to be involved, to help, to make corrections --- and when things go sideways, he tries to take over completely. It's not malicious, he just can't seem to help himself when the topic is something he's good at.
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It's fine. If there's a fire, he can come running to make sure it's put out quickly.
So he turns, gives her one more kiss, and vacates the room as asked. He doesn't make as much progress on his poem as he'd like, pausing occasionally to wonder whether he smells smoke or too much spice or whether he's imagining it.
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Overall, disappointing but not offensive. One of her top efforts so far.
Once dinner is ready, she comes to find him. She slips her arms around his shoulders and bends to kiss the back of his neck.
"You look stuck. Need some inspiration?"
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"From my muse? Always."
He twists in his chair and tips his head upwards like a sunflower chasing the sun, then gives her a kiss.
"Dinner smells delicious," he remarks when they separate, and it's true! Nothing smells burned or strange, which makes pride swell in his chest.
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She sighs happily and her lips brush softly along his jaw when they part. Inspiration.
"Hey," she noses at the tender skin under his ear. "Cast detect thoughts."
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His hands move to hold her hips, and he smiles up at her with his puppy eyed expression.
"Are you sure?" He asks reflexively, eyebrows furrowing. Of course she's sure, she's the one who'd asked him to do it, but he always wants her to have that chance to refuse him.
"If you say so, then so be it." He lifts his hands to cast the spell with quick, precise little movements.
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It's not a request she makes often, but sometimes her thoughts and feelings are too big to fit into words. This is the compromise that stops her from walking away to escape that feeling.
Her thoughts aren't formed in words so much as swirling tides of emotions. They threaten to drown her sometimes, but what she feels now -- and what he feels as he detects her thoughts -- is the sweet golden warmth of love. She loves him fiercely, deeply, unquestionably. There is nothing she wouldn't do to keep him, and she has a bone deep certainty that they will make a future together.
And also, that she really really really wants to choke on his cock. But mostly the first thing!
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That honeyed warmth is equal parts sweet and ferocious, rushing over him until he's submerged in the depths of her love. It's wonderful and overwhelming to feel such affection that asks nothing from him in return, not power or knowledge or accomplishment, only that he keep on living despite she odds. His tear ducts and sinuses prickle with the effort not to cry, and—
Oh! The surprise breaks the spell, and she feels it like he stumbled out of the room that is her mind. He blushes deeply, and it takes a couple of false starts before he manages proper words. "I love you too, even if you do tease me far more than I deserve." His hands land on her legs again, except he's sliding them under her, scooping her up in his arms as he sweeps out of the study. "If I can't satisfy one appetite, I suppose I'll settle for another.'
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"I think I tease you just as much as you like!"
For example. Her fingers play through his hair and she gives him a coy smile.
"I hope you found something inspiring in that, Gale my love."
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He beams at her, and thought he says nothing, that is answer enough. Hey particular brand of teasing still sometimes manages to catch him off guard, but he still adores it and her.
"You are a perpetual inspiration, my lovely muse," he answers. Once they're in the kitchen, he lowers her back to the ground. He doesn't wait for her offer before he starts sniffing around the prepared food.
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"Wait-" She grabs his waist and crowds him against the table to kiss him again. Let dinner get cold.
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