( maybe he has gone soft — or, at least, he's mellowed out from being a hair trigger away from blowing someone's brains out over a job (it was more than just the job, though; nate managed to push every single one of harry's buttons in one go) — but no one other than chloe ever needs to know that. he shrugs it off with an expression that seems to say, they'll never know, will they?
he still has some appearances to keep up, after all, especially in this line of work. these private moments with chloe are just for them — there's a reason no one knows about the loft outside of charlie. the world doesn't need to know who they are behind closed doors, beyond what they assume is happening (that, at least, they've never been shy about in public; and maybe it started out as possessive, territorial, harry's jealousy rearing its ugly head, but now there's a certain kind of confidence, preening almost, in the casual, comfortable way they exist together with company).
any other night, just a soft kiss might fire him up, might lead his hand to stray between her legs — but this isn't one of those nights. he can feel it in the air, in the gentle way her lips touch his. now isn't the time. by now, they know each other's desires inside and out, backwards and forwards, up and down; if she wanted to take this further, she already would have. still, he leans into it, chases the warmth of her mouth for just a moment before she pulls away.
it's the quiet admission left in the wake of their kiss that takes him by surprise. he doesn't often hear her say it, doesn't necessarily need her too, either; she's always said it in other ways. his mouth twitches with a ghost of a smile, the warm feeling in his chest spreading to his face, almost like he's had a bit too much to drink. she's always had this effect on him, even before he knew what it was. )
I know. ( he can't blame her for getting a little lost in her own head. whatever happened in india must have had a profound impact on her, averting civil war aside. (he's seen his own share of that, though he hadn't actually bothered averting anything. trying to convince lazarevic out of that more than likely would have gotten him killed. he'd seen what lazarevic was capable of in borneo; trying to talk a war criminal out of warmongering would have been like trying to talk a lion out of eating a gazelle.)
he's been a bit lost himself these past few months — and maybe she even noticed it before she left — but he hasn't been able to bring himself to talk about it. there never seem to be the right words. there's a box of jazz records his mum gave him he still hasn't touched. there are artifacts in their safe that weren't there before chloe left, old journals strewn about the library written in german, pages from an original medieval manuscript tucked underneath pages of notes in harry's nearly illegible scrawl. he could have gone with chloe to india, but he would have been too distracted by his own mess to be of much help. while she was researching the tusk, he'd been doing research of his own, spending hours upon hours at the national archives, visiting his mum while she was still in town. and while there's still an emptiness where his grandmother should be, the knowledge she left him might be enough to help him find a legacy of his own.
he nods to the now blackened screen of chloe's laptop. he'd only gotten a brief glimpse of a towering city hidden beneath a canopy of rock and trees before the screen went dark. )
no subject
he still has some appearances to keep up, after all, especially in this line of work. these private moments with chloe are just for them — there's a reason no one knows about the loft outside of charlie. the world doesn't need to know who they are behind closed doors, beyond what they assume is happening (that, at least, they've never been shy about in public; and maybe it started out as possessive, territorial, harry's jealousy rearing its ugly head, but now there's a certain kind of confidence, preening almost, in the casual, comfortable way they exist together with company).
any other night, just a soft kiss might fire him up, might lead his hand to stray between her legs — but this isn't one of those nights. he can feel it in the air, in the gentle way her lips touch his. now isn't the time. by now, they know each other's desires inside and out, backwards and forwards, up and down; if she wanted to take this further, she already would have. still, he leans into it, chases the warmth of her mouth for just a moment before she pulls away.
it's the quiet admission left in the wake of their kiss that takes him by surprise. he doesn't often hear her say it, doesn't necessarily need her too, either; she's always said it in other ways. his mouth twitches with a ghost of a smile, the warm feeling in his chest spreading to his face, almost like he's had a bit too much to drink. she's always had this effect on him, even before he knew what it was. )
I know. ( he can't blame her for getting a little lost in her own head. whatever happened in india must have had a profound impact on her, averting civil war aside. (he's seen his own share of that, though he hadn't actually bothered averting anything. trying to convince lazarevic out of that more than likely would have gotten him killed. he'd seen what lazarevic was capable of in borneo; trying to talk a war criminal out of warmongering would have been like trying to talk a lion out of eating a gazelle.)
he's been a bit lost himself these past few months — and maybe she even noticed it before she left — but he hasn't been able to bring himself to talk about it. there never seem to be the right words. there's a box of jazz records his mum gave him he still hasn't touched. there are artifacts in their safe that weren't there before chloe left, old journals strewn about the library written in german, pages from an original medieval manuscript tucked underneath pages of notes in harry's nearly illegible scrawl. he could have gone with chloe to india, but he would have been too distracted by his own mess to be of much help. while she was researching the tusk, he'd been doing research of his own, spending hours upon hours at the national archives, visiting his mum while she was still in town. and while there's still an emptiness where his grandmother should be, the knowledge she left him might be enough to help him find a legacy of his own.
he nods to the now blackened screen of chloe's laptop. he'd only gotten a brief glimpse of a towering city hidden beneath a canopy of rock and trees before the screen went dark. )
Another lost city to cross off the list, eh?