[ The words rush out on a slightly shaky breath. It's the most honest thing he'd said in weeks. To everyone else he's interacted with, he's been a shell of himself; performing, essentially, the role of the man he was before all of this began - lively, charming, bold, capable. He's kept up enough of the facade for others not to catch on, and he does so out of necessity. It would do no good for anyone to notice his pining, his ache.
Certainly not under the ever watchful gaze of Wormtongue; who, although Daario has spent no further time interacting with Éowyn since that night after their ride; still scrutinizes his every step, listening in to his conversations when he thinks Daario is unaware. But he's always aware; because he has to be.
And she's right, to be with him is to risk everything she has. The risk to himself, his own life; means less because of how familiar risk is to someone like Daario. He can navigate it well enough, as evidenced by the past few weeks; agonizing as they have been. He knows that what he wants from her is not something she can give; and yet he wants it still.
It brings him some comfort in the knowledge that she is no less affected by this than he. That she aches as he does. Though it doesn't solve anything. ]
I don't know. [ He answers truthfully, uselessly; alone in the stall with her he's far too distracted by her proximity to come up with any logical solutions; if any actually even exist. All he knows is that when her hand drops from his arm, he wants it back; wants her touch so desperately that he acts purely from that desire - disregarding every risk and every warning and every reason why he should not do so, he steps closer to her and lifts his hand to frame her face. He swallows against the thickness building in his throat, his gaze raw and pleading. ]
I don't know how to be near you without touching you. [ His fingertips brush down along her cheekbones to her jaw, an unsteady sigh leaving his chest; his voice coming out in a quiet sort of rasp. ] I'm not strong enough. [ His gaze darkens as he shifts closer to her. ] It isn't fair of me to ask it of you, but you have to leave. You have to leave me here, or I will not be able to stop.
[Her heart skips in its rhythm, stutters a moment before setting up a faster tattoo. His hand is hot and rough against her cheek, and it feels to her that it burns like a brand, that its heat passes over into her and sets her cheek aflame. Her eyes meet his, and she could not help it if she wanted to - no more than she can help the answering desire in her own look.]
[It seems to her that she has forgotten how to breathe. Standing so close, he seems to take on a strange power, an intensity of presence, as though he is somehow the only real thing in the world. This is exactly what she has been striving to avoid, what she should not allow. At the same time, it is all she has wanted for weeks: his touch, his closeness, the look in his eyes that says she need not be alone.]
[Her hand comes up to cover his, and it trembles a little. Her voice is barely a whisper when she echoes his words.]
I am not strong enough.
[And she gives in to that pull, unable to prevent herself: she moves closer, almost without knowing it, until they are nearly chest-to-chest, until she can feel his breath unsteady against her cheek. Shame washes over her, but it is not nearly as strong as that magnetic draw of his touch.]
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sforzinda
no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 07:14 am (UTC)[ The words rush out on a slightly shaky breath. It's the most honest thing he'd said in weeks. To everyone else he's interacted with, he's been a shell of himself; performing, essentially, the role of the man he was before all of this began - lively, charming, bold, capable. He's kept up enough of the facade for others not to catch on, and he does so out of necessity. It would do no good for anyone to notice his pining, his ache.
Certainly not under the ever watchful gaze of Wormtongue; who, although Daario has spent no further time interacting with Éowyn since that night after their ride; still scrutinizes his every step, listening in to his conversations when he thinks Daario is unaware. But he's always aware; because he has to be.
And she's right, to be with him is to risk everything she has. The risk to himself, his own life; means less because of how familiar risk is to someone like Daario. He can navigate it well enough, as evidenced by the past few weeks; agonizing as they have been. He knows that what he wants from her is not something she can give; and yet he wants it still.
It brings him some comfort in the knowledge that she is no less affected by this than he. That she aches as he does. Though it doesn't solve anything. ]
I don't know. [ He answers truthfully, uselessly; alone in the stall with her he's far too distracted by her proximity to come up with any logical solutions; if any actually even exist. All he knows is that when her hand drops from his arm, he wants it back; wants her touch so desperately that he acts purely from that desire - disregarding every risk and every warning and every reason why he should not do so, he steps closer to her and lifts his hand to frame her face. He swallows against the thickness building in his throat, his gaze raw and pleading. ]
I don't know how to be near you without touching you. [ His fingertips brush down along her cheekbones to her jaw, an unsteady sigh leaving his chest; his voice coming out in a quiet sort of rasp. ] I'm not strong enough. [ His gaze darkens as he shifts closer to her. ] It isn't fair of me to ask it of you, but you have to leave. You have to leave me here, or I will not be able to stop.
no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 01:35 pm (UTC)[It seems to her that she has forgotten how to breathe. Standing so close, he seems to take on a strange power, an intensity of presence, as though he is somehow the only real thing in the world. This is exactly what she has been striving to avoid, what she should not allow. At the same time, it is all she has wanted for weeks: his touch, his closeness, the look in his eyes that says she need not be alone.]
[Her hand comes up to cover his, and it trembles a little. Her voice is barely a whisper when she echoes his words.]
I am not strong enough.
[And she gives in to that pull, unable to prevent herself: she moves closer, almost without knowing it, until they are nearly chest-to-chest, until she can feel his breath unsteady against her cheek. Shame washes over her, but it is not nearly as strong as that magnetic draw of his touch.]
Who knows you are here?