[ What a strange feeling, letting the mask drop. Beneath it, Rau's brows are knit with the concentration of not standing up and walking away after all, the furrows foreshadowing where untimely wrinkles would have settled permanently after another year or two of life; his jaw is clenched tight under Gil's palm. His hand on Gil's wrist presses tighter, but it's also a shift from sharp pain to dull pain -- from a careful vice-grip to plain grasping. The fingers at Gil's neck dip down, just barely, and snarl in his collar instead.
It isn't a matter of Gil seeing this face; that happened often enough before Rau made himself indispensable enough to the National Defense Committee to get away with the oddity of wearing a mask at all times. The mask has always been for Rau. It really would have been easier to start by removing clothes.
It takes a minute of sharp breaths and deliberate intent to unclench. The fingers at Gil's collar loosen first, then the hand at his wrist, though Rau does not pull either hand away. Slowly, with an effort and after a moment where his teeth grind near-audibly, he closes his eyes and his features smooth. One more slow, deliberate exhale, and Rau opens his eyes to look down at Gilbert Durandal again.
And frowns. Not the tense scowl of a minute earlier, just reproachful -- although his expression and tone are both pricklier than Rau would really like, if the mask were still in place. ]
You really are too clever for your own good. You almost talked yourself out of this.
no subject
It isn't a matter of Gil seeing this face; that happened often enough before Rau made himself indispensable enough to the National Defense Committee to get away with the oddity of wearing a mask at all times. The mask has always been for Rau. It really would have been easier to start by removing clothes.
It takes a minute of sharp breaths and deliberate intent to unclench. The fingers at Gil's collar loosen first, then the hand at his wrist, though Rau does not pull either hand away. Slowly, with an effort and after a moment where his teeth grind near-audibly, he closes his eyes and his features smooth. One more slow, deliberate exhale, and Rau opens his eyes to look down at Gilbert Durandal again.
And frowns. Not the tense scowl of a minute earlier, just reproachful -- although his expression and tone are both pricklier than Rau would really like, if the mask were still in place. ]
You really are too clever for your own good. You almost talked yourself out of this.