He lets his eyes flutter closed, allows himself to indulge in all of the affection you provide him with, and though there's still that voice in the base of his skull screaming that he doesn't deserve it, he thinks maybe your words can drown it out.
Look at you, turnin' me into a sap. But I don't mind...
One of his large hands comes up to play with the ends of your hair, and he's still fascinated by how strong you are, how valiant you are, despite him giving you every reason to turn your back , your lips are leaving little traces of love on his face and he might be able to stay longer than he ever thought possible. If you'd allow him. If you'd like for him to. And he thinks that, maybe, you just might.
Listen, sweetheart, I don't trust easily. I'm kind of an asshole that way. So if we're gonna do this—be this—I need to be sure that you're in it. That this isn't just some short term thing to get your rocks off to. Because...
His voice waivers slightly, and his eyes pull down to the space between your bodies. Hesitance is a foreign thing to him, nearly as foreign as vulnerability, and he's still not quite sure how to hold it in his mouth. He tries to be delicate about it, but it comes out too rough, too crude. He hopes that you can see through it was well as you see through everything else about him.
Because I don't think I can handle short term. Not with you. Never with you.
-Simon "Ghost" Riley
