Ned kisses him back, and it's so much easier than talking, at the moment. It strikes him, not for the first time and most likely not for the last, how extraordinary that is. That kissing could be something easy for him, something sweet and enjoyable, without that tiny sliver of discomfort, of aversion, that he'd gotten used to over the years.
He was fine with them conducting this conversation in one of the shared areas of the house up until this point, but when Daneel frankly asks him to explain things he would like to explore, sexually, Ned balks at answering. Part of that, he knows, is merely a holdover from the way he was raised. He's simply not used to talking about this kind of thing, much less in reference to himself. Still, though the house is emptier than it once was, Clint or - God help him - Riley might wander down the stairs or come in the front door, and he really would die of embarrassment if they heard him describing what he wanted Daneel to do to him in bed.
"How about I tell you a little later, when the fire's gone out?"
For the moment, he's more than happy just to bask in its glow, body settled against Daneel's comfortably. He's not thinking about any of the things that have gone wrong recently - the lack of power, Meyer's downward spiral, the disappearance of a dozen or so people he cares about. He's just content, bolstered by their continued success at talking through the tough patches, feeling grateful and happy that Daneel is just the way he is.
"You know, I think the two of us would make for quite an interesting romance novel, ourselves." He speaks quietly, with more than a hint of amusement in his voice. Adding an extra dose of cheesiness, he says, as if advertising an existing book, "The lonely piemaker who's always been unlucky in love and the humaniform robot who shows him it's never too late to fall. Or something like that."
no subject
He was fine with them conducting this conversation in one of the shared areas of the house up until this point, but when Daneel frankly asks him to explain things he would like to explore, sexually, Ned balks at answering. Part of that, he knows, is merely a holdover from the way he was raised. He's simply not used to talking about this kind of thing, much less in reference to himself. Still, though the house is emptier than it once was, Clint or - God help him - Riley might wander down the stairs or come in the front door, and he really would die of embarrassment if they heard him describing what he wanted Daneel to do to him in bed.
"How about I tell you a little later, when the fire's gone out?"
For the moment, he's more than happy just to bask in its glow, body settled against Daneel's comfortably. He's not thinking about any of the things that have gone wrong recently - the lack of power, Meyer's downward spiral, the disappearance of a dozen or so people he cares about. He's just content, bolstered by their continued success at talking through the tough patches, feeling grateful and happy that Daneel is just the way he is.
"You know, I think the two of us would make for quite an interesting romance novel, ourselves." He speaks quietly, with more than a hint of amusement in his voice. Adding an extra dose of cheesiness, he says, as if advertising an existing book, "The lonely piemaker who's always been unlucky in love and the humaniform robot who shows him it's never too late to fall. Or something like that."