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Even in all this heat, he still feels so cold.
Of course, it started off with his personality. 'Cold' had always been an apt descriptor for it. It took a long time before ice gave way to water, and even so, the water remained cold, lukewarm at best. There were only rare moments when the temperature rose slightly, and then suddenly, when the two of them were alone, and his until-then ironclad logic faltered. Like winter gave way to spring, cold, hard logic gave way to emotion.
She stood in shock when he clung to her, wheezing, pleading; it was hard to make out his words through the jumble of whimpers and coughs, but one thing distinctly rang out: Don't leave me.
And so she would stay. Not because he asked, but because she wanted to. When he was doing fine, when he wasn't doing so well; she stayed.
Then things got heated, and here they are, clumsily sprawled on his bed. She's doing her best not to put too much weight on him and she handles him gently, like a porcelain figure; it irritates him, being treated like he's made of glass, but he coughs instead of protesting and simply lies back. She reassures him, stroking a hand through his hair and trailing kisses down his numerous scars. After a while he finds no more reason to complain and just enjoys it, clumsy as her ministrations may be.
But still, compared to her own heat and despite being warmer than usual, he still feels so cold to the touch. It makes her wish she could just cover his body with her own and share her temperature with him, find some kind of happy medium; but for now this is all she can do. She laces her fingers with his and kisses him gently as she slowly rocks her body against his. She's eager to please him before pleasing herself and she doesn't want him wearing himself out; she realizes she might be worrying too much, but she'd really rather not take any risks.
To their surprise, they eventually boil over together, and she has to stop herself from slumping over on top of him and instead rolls to his side. This time he's the one who pulls her close, although he's hesitant to let her see his face, much redder than she's ever seen it before. She's glad for it, though; she touches his cheek and feels an acceptable temperature radiating from his skin. She smiles and nestles her head against his chest, legs tangling together under the sheets.
Maybe she's found a solution to his temperature problem after all.
Of course, it started off with his personality. 'Cold' had always been an apt descriptor for it. It took a long time before ice gave way to water, and even so, the water remained cold, lukewarm at best. There were only rare moments when the temperature rose slightly, and then suddenly, when the two of them were alone, and his until-then ironclad logic faltered. Like winter gave way to spring, cold, hard logic gave way to emotion.
She stood in shock when he clung to her, wheezing, pleading; it was hard to make out his words through the jumble of whimpers and coughs, but one thing distinctly rang out: Don't leave me.
And so she would stay. Not because he asked, but because she wanted to. When he was doing fine, when he wasn't doing so well; she stayed.
Then things got heated, and here they are, clumsily sprawled on his bed. She's doing her best not to put too much weight on him and she handles him gently, like a porcelain figure; it irritates him, being treated like he's made of glass, but he coughs instead of protesting and simply lies back. She reassures him, stroking a hand through his hair and trailing kisses down his numerous scars. After a while he finds no more reason to complain and just enjoys it, clumsy as her ministrations may be.
But still, compared to her own heat and despite being warmer than usual, he still feels so cold to the touch. It makes her wish she could just cover his body with her own and share her temperature with him, find some kind of happy medium; but for now this is all she can do. She laces her fingers with his and kisses him gently as she slowly rocks her body against his. She's eager to please him before pleasing herself and she doesn't want him wearing himself out; she realizes she might be worrying too much, but she'd really rather not take any risks.
To their surprise, they eventually boil over together, and she has to stop herself from slumping over on top of him and instead rolls to his side. This time he's the one who pulls her close, although he's hesitant to let her see his face, much redder than she's ever seen it before. She's glad for it, though; she touches his cheek and feels an acceptable temperature radiating from his skin. She smiles and nestles her head against his chest, legs tangling together under the sheets.
Maybe she's found a solution to his temperature problem after all.