She doesn't mean it like that. He wishes he was wearing his helmet, but at least she's not looking at him. Because he can feel the now-familiar sensation of an absolutely searing blush coming over his face.
It does not help that Titania is laughing in the back of his head. You're enjoying this, he thinks at her accusingly. Her only answer is more laughter.
This is a serious conversation. This is not the time to be thinking about what he'd like to do with her in any other sense. He shouldn't be thinking about that at all.
Taking off his armor was such a bad idea.
He does his best to quickly strangle those thoughts, hopefully before any echo of his desire can make it across the synch. Her question and the conversation is much more important than how touch-drunk he's become. ]
You have your own powers as well. You showed me.
[ It was the most unbearably attractive thing he'd experienced since his days of punching Felwinter's head off. No, thinking about that does not help.
The basic concept of her question, when he reaches past his own childish thoughts, is something he finds almost repugnant. He knows that this isn't uncommon behavior; there were many reasons he was feared by the other Warlords, and his aggressive hatred of the way they used other people was but one of them.
He owes her an answer. He can only reach through his own context, because he does not know her world. ]
If you were under my command... [ Slight emphasis there, because a warrior is commanded, not used. His breath is a little unsteady as he continues; this is a feeling close to lust, though perhaps one that would be less shocking to her from what she knows of him. His voice goes low, a tone more suited to whispering to a lover in the dark. ] ...we would tear ships from the sky and raze fortifications to dust. Our names would be whispered in fear, like a curse, by all who would hurt our people.
[ We would. Because he does not ask of others for a fight he will not engage in, himself. Because he leads in the field. Because he is a warrior, too. He tries to shake the mental image of Wanda, the bloody hem of a proper warlock's coat streaming in the hot breeze like a flag of war, the enemy devastated at her feet. Her power like iron bonds, her teeth at his throat.
She doesn't need the burden of his want.
He curls his hand around hers, wrapping her fingers into a fist that he holds in his own. He clears his throat, finding a more normal tone with which to continue. ]
We are the playthings of powerful beings, but they cannot control our wills. What you think, what you want matters. And anyone who thinks otherwise here will answer to me.
no subject
She doesn't mean it like that. He wishes he was wearing his helmet, but at least she's not looking at him. Because he can feel the now-familiar sensation of an absolutely searing blush coming over his face.
It does not help that Titania is laughing in the back of his head. You're enjoying this, he thinks at her accusingly. Her only answer is more laughter.
This is a serious conversation. This is not the time to be thinking about what he'd like to do with her in any other sense. He shouldn't be thinking about that at all.
Taking off his armor was such a bad idea.
He does his best to quickly strangle those thoughts, hopefully before any echo of his desire can make it across the synch. Her question and the conversation is much more important than how touch-drunk he's become. ]
You have your own powers as well. You showed me.
[ It was the most unbearably attractive thing he'd experienced since his days of punching Felwinter's head off. No, thinking about that does not help.
The basic concept of her question, when he reaches past his own childish thoughts, is something he finds almost repugnant. He knows that this isn't uncommon behavior; there were many reasons he was feared by the other Warlords, and his aggressive hatred of the way they used other people was but one of them.
He owes her an answer. He can only reach through his own context, because he does not know her world. ]
If you were under my command... [ Slight emphasis there, because a warrior is commanded, not used. His breath is a little unsteady as he continues; this is a feeling close to lust, though perhaps one that would be less shocking to her from what she knows of him. His voice goes low, a tone more suited to whispering to a lover in the dark. ] ...we would tear ships from the sky and raze fortifications to dust. Our names would be whispered in fear, like a curse, by all who would hurt our people.
[ We would. Because he does not ask of others for a fight he will not engage in, himself. Because he leads in the field. Because he is a warrior, too. He tries to shake the mental image of Wanda, the bloody hem of a proper warlock's coat streaming in the hot breeze like a flag of war, the enemy devastated at her feet. Her power like iron bonds, her teeth at his throat.
She doesn't need the burden of his want.
He curls his hand around hers, wrapping her fingers into a fist that he holds in his own. He clears his throat, finding a more normal tone with which to continue. ]
We are the playthings of powerful beings, but they cannot control our wills. What you think, what you want matters. And anyone who thinks otherwise here will answer to me.