[In the emptiness of silence, Zevran’s hand reaches across the distance and through seemingly inconsolable despair to find him, his nerves tingling with the memory of days when he had found reassurance in touch. He bristles inwardly – and pursing his lips, he keeps still, his gaze still lost somewhere in the middle distance. Lord knows some part of him wishes to savour this touch and these attentions for as long as they could last. But in an instant he realizes he can't fully appreciate the gesture for what it is when he's too aware of all that it cannot be. He roils inside, unable to bear what now seems like an expression of pity on Zevran’s part, as if he were a child. Perhaps, in some ways, he still is. But the hand’s gone before he can twist his head aside. Or snatch hold of it by the wrist to keep it there.
The words left unsaid tangle up into a hard, aching knot behind his Adam's Apple, helpless frustration gripping him. He lets his eyes fall shut again, breathing.]
Touch me. [Not a snarled, hungry demand, but a request in a tone close to defeat.]
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The words left unsaid tangle up into a hard, aching knot behind his Adam's Apple, helpless frustration gripping him. He lets his eyes fall shut again, breathing.]
Touch me. [Not a snarled, hungry demand, but a request in a tone close to defeat.]