[ she responds in kind, a playful smirk lightening her expression. ] That? Such an act came with the job description. [ she catches the soap.
...in truth, however, there's something of a curse to processing time like this. everything slows down even further as she watches herself fumble the catch. it slips between her fingers, shoots into the air. angela catches the bar again, frustration peeking out of her expression as her lips turn downward and her brows furrow. it's a strange thing. again, it slips from her grip, but this time it goes rocketing up overhead and onto the floor, where it skids towards the closed door.
[ just shut your brain off, roland. he pushes himself up out of the water by the elbows, sliding back onto the floor. as if he were a sopping, wet dog, he trudges towards the soap and picks it up in what is the most agonizing half crouch humanity has ever witnessed.
and then he splashes back into the bath — and firmly slaps the bar of soap into the palm of angela’s hand. ]
[ she stares at the bar of soap in her hands. while the moon was very full tonight, this is all she can focus on. somehow, the image of roland's asshole is of less importance to her right now.
In times of duress, stress, or exertion. [ she knows.
angela moves forward. shamelessly, she chest rises out of the water jut slightly to give way to the sight of her breasts. water runs down her body in long streaks, and steam rises from the bath. ]
I'll do it.
[ she tries to take the rag from him. yes, the one he's using. ]
Or when you're in a steaming bath that traps heat. [ she's being dramatic.
that is, until she rises without an ounce of reluctance -- roland's eyes dart to the side quickly, and he swallows down a cough, feeling the heat swelling in his face. his attention is pulled back to her in her attempt to wrench the rag out of his hands; he lets himself lose that fight easily. still isn't looking at her. ]
[ with the rag in hand, she begins to rub at his skin.
it's quite simple and too gentle for anything, as if she's still measuring out her own strength. a thoughtful expression follows the streal of suds left behind each stroke, and angela only looks upon his chest. ]
I can perspire, however, it is not the same as what you experience. [ a beat. ] In other words, I do not smell as you do.
[ he stiffens and flinches at her touch; it’s an involuntary response. his eyes are trained on the water, away from her. ]
Sorry. It’s been… a long time.
[ preparing himself with an exhale, roland’s shoulders relax and melt into her hands. it’s an embarrassing realization, really: he’s touch starved, no better than a dog searching for a trough. he can only barely meet her gaze at surface level, but he skirts a glance at her, as if signifying that he’s still engaged. ]
Angela. [ his eyes harden as he speaks. ] You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.
[ selfishly, she's doing this for herself. doesn't she always, though? ]
File them correctly if you have complaints. As for me, I am collecting information. [ then, blithely: ]
You have a wound here from being shot at. [ she continues. ] A healed scar on the back of your upper thigh. Someone tried to incapacitate you from behind. Is that it?
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croftmanor2022-06-11 10:53 pm
no subject
...in truth, however, there's something of a curse to processing time like this. everything slows down even further as she watches herself fumble the catch. it slips between her fingers, shoots into the air. angela catches the bar again, frustration peeking out of her expression as her lips turn downward and her brows furrow. it's a strange thing. again, it slips from her grip, but this time it goes rocketing up overhead and onto the floor, where it skids towards the closed door.
she stares. ]
Go get it.
[ she already saw his ass. who cares. ]
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Why me?
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[ just shut your brain off, roland. he pushes himself up out of the water by the elbows, sliding back onto the floor. as if he were a sopping, wet dog, he trudges towards the soap and picks it up in what is the most agonizing half crouch humanity has ever witnessed.
and then he splashes back into the bath — and firmly slaps the bar of soap into the palm of angela’s hand. ]
Here. Just rub it somewhere. Anywhere.
no subject
actually, what angela is thinking is: ]
We don't have towels?
[ or did he forget he could use one? ]
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Certainly, I've learned a lot. There was a great deal of data to collect, as I hoped.
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[ back to washing it is. this time, he is scrubbing intently beneath his underarms. ]
The thing about humans is that they sweat… a lot.
no subject
angela moves forward. shamelessly, she chest rises out of the water jut slightly to give way to the sight of her breasts. water runs down her body in long streaks, and steam rises from the bath. ]
I'll do it.
[ she tries to take the rag from him. yes, the one he's using. ]
no subject
that is, until she rises without an ounce of reluctance -- roland's eyes dart to the side quickly, and he swallows down a cough, feeling the heat swelling in his face. his attention is pulled back to her in her attempt to wrench the rag out of his hands; he lets himself lose that fight easily. still isn't looking at her. ]
...Do what? What'd you need the rag for?
no subject
it's quite simple and too gentle for anything, as if she's still measuring out her own strength. a thoughtful expression follows the streal of suds left behind each stroke, and angela only looks upon his chest. ]
I can perspire, however, it is not the same as what you experience. [ a beat. ] In other words, I do not smell as you do.
no subject
Sorry. It’s been… a long time.
[ preparing himself with an exhale, roland’s shoulders relax and melt into her hands. it’s an embarrassing realization, really: he’s touch starved, no better than a dog searching for a trough. he can only barely meet her gaze at surface level, but he skirts a glance at her, as if signifying that he’s still engaged. ]
Angela. [ his eyes harden as he speaks. ] You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.
no subject
[ selfishly, she's doing this for herself. doesn't she always, though? ]
File them correctly if you have complaints. As for me, I am collecting information. [ then, blithely: ]
You have a wound here from being shot at. [ she continues. ] A healed scar on the back of your upper thigh. Someone tried to incapacitate you from behind. Is that it?