His heart was pounding as she turned to face him. He was very aware of how her skirt moved beneath his hands as she turned, very aware that part of what he was feeling beneath his fingers were the contours of her hips themselves. He had never really been this close to a woman before. Physically he had, of course — physically he had been this close to her before, in the coatroom. But metaphorically they were on the cusp of diving into a place Ford had never been before, and — he was all nerves, in spite of what he'd thought a moment ago about how perhaps they ought to both lower their expectations. Because if they were going to sleep together tonight it was important; it set the tone for everything else that followed, didn't it? So if they were going to do it he wanted to do it right, and — and a little over twelve hours ago he had still been wrapped up in Tycho's arms, and probably that shouldn't have mattered but he kept thinking about it anyway.
But he was here now, with her, and he wanted to get this right. She had tilted her head up towards his and her eyes were dark and soft and this was going to be the rest of his life and he wanted to get it right.
Be here, with her, he told himself. He moved one hand up to the side of her face and moved his lips to hers. Her skin was soft; her mouth was soft. She was solid enough beneath his hands but he had the feeling that he was holding something fragile, something that needed to be treated with care. Maybe it was the moment that was fragile, more than her. She tasted of champagne from the reception. When Tycho kissed him he could feel the craving in it, the passion, the need. She did not kiss him like she wanted him — but he did not think he could fault her for that. (Comparisons would benefit him not at all, he recognized; he ought to stay focused on the sensations themselves, stay grounded in the moment, stay present, but — it was hard not to be reminded, when he'd only ever done this with Tycho for the past two years).
He pulled back and offered her a shy smile. "Alright," he said. "I'll — give you a few minutes to change? I'm afraid I'll tear the lace," he admitted. Not that he planned to be especially rough with her clothes, or anything, but the lace looked especially delicate. He had no experience whatsoever with lace clothing; he didn't know if it really was as fragile as it looked, but since Greer had done them a favor by making the dress on short order he wasn't eager to find out.
But he was here now, with her, and he wanted to get this right. She had tilted her head up towards his and her eyes were dark and soft and this was going to be the rest of his life and he wanted to get it right.
Be here, with her, he told himself. He moved one hand up to the side of her face and moved his lips to hers. Her skin was soft; her mouth was soft. She was solid enough beneath his hands but he had the feeling that he was holding something fragile, something that needed to be treated with care. Maybe it was the moment that was fragile, more than her. She tasted of champagne from the reception. When Tycho kissed him he could feel the craving in it, the passion, the need. She did not kiss him like she wanted him — but he did not think he could fault her for that. (Comparisons would benefit him not at all, he recognized; he ought to stay focused on the sensations themselves, stay grounded in the moment, stay present, but — it was hard not to be reminded, when he'd only ever done this with Tycho for the past two years).
He pulled back and offered her a shy smile. "Alright," he said. "I'll — give you a few minutes to change? I'm afraid I'll tear the lace," he admitted. Not that he planned to be especially rough with her clothes, or anything, but the lace looked especially delicate. He had no experience whatsoever with lace clothing; he didn't know if it really was as fragile as it looked, but since Greer had done them a favor by making the dress on short order he wasn't eager to find out.
Set by Lady!