kore_logs | when it's all said and done

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when it's all said and done

Who: Ned and Daneel
What: The sun is down, the power is out.
Where: House 20
When: Day 100, twilight

The old adage about not knowing what you have until it's gone seems particularly relevant to Ned tonight. He'd thought things were bad enough with just the food shortage, just the lack of communication with the outside world, just the ignorance of where they are and who brought them here, just the occasional bout of horrific nightmares or monstrous transformations. Now, it would seem, they are going to have to learn to live without electricity, as well.

Perhaps, he thinks, walking back towards the house, it won't be permanent. Perhaps the power will be back in a few days and things will return to normal.

(But he'd heard stories from the older residents, about how the food used to be replenished. That had changed, and there were no signs of things going back to the way they used to be. So to hope for anything other than the worst possible scenario seems like foolish optimism, to him.)

Ned gets back a few minutes after the sun has set, as light is rapidly fading from the air. He lets himself inside and reaches for the light switch automatically, hand pausing halfway there to drop back down again. Under one of his arms is a bundle of wood, destined for the fireplace, if only he can manage to get it lit on his own. Ned can navigate easily enough - he has a good sense of the space and where things are that would get in his way - but once he's at the fireplace, he is at a bit of a loss. He has vague and distant memories of family camping trips when he was young, but it's been years and he doesn't remember much. How should he arrange the wood? How does he check that the chimney is open and he won't end up getting soot on everything?

There's a packet of matches in the hall, he remembers; perhaps it is best to start there.

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"Perfect," Ned says. He's got a little more wood for burning set aside, but not very much. He'll just have to make the most of the fire, while it is here.

So he sits down on the rug, right there in front of the fire, staying close so he can benefit from the heat in addition to the ever-increasing light that it is putting out. He pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them, locking his fingers together and propping his chin on one knee. There's something hypnotic and soothing about watching the flame as it begins to curl its way along the sides of the wood, about hearing the occasional crackle it produces.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" he murmurs, absent-mindedly, half to himself.

Is it? Daneel isn't sure how he would define beauty. That which is good, perhaps, and the fire is good, providing warmth and light and comfort for Ned, so perhaps it is beautiful. He wouldn't have thought of that description, though, that particular word.

He sits very near Ned, placing one hand on Ned's shoulder. "I am glad you find it soothing." "Soothing" is a much safer statement for him to make, compared with "beautiful." It's an incredibly human way of describing it, one that seems a little beyond him. "Is there something else I can do for you? I am... I am concerned. I wish you to be as comfortable as is possible right now."

Ned knows that aesthetic judgments aren't really Daneel's strong suit, feels a quick twinge of regret for phrasing it the way he did. Of course, he thinks, Daneel probably still has a sense of beauty, but one that operates in a different way, and in response to different stimuli, than a human one. There's nothing wrong with that, as far as he's concerned. But he worries, on occasion, that careless talk like that from him will make Daneel feel self-conscious and insufficient, the way it has in the past. He's not forgotten all the times Daneel has let his insecurity show: even if he wouldn't call it by that name.

Which is why when Daneel says he's concerned, Ned takes it seriously. He scoots a bit closer to Daneel, shaking his head and smiling. It's a brighter smile than Daneel has seen from him since before their housemates vanished.

"No concern necessary. I'm perfectly comfortable." He tilts his head, brushing his cheek against the hand that Daneel put in his shoulder, a small gesture of affection. Then, because he insists on treating Daneel as his equal, even if he knows the power outage doesn't effect him in quite the same ways, he asks, "You?"

The question is irrelevant to him, but pointing that out... is awkward and unnecessary.

"I am well, Ned."

And more or less, he is. He's concerned for Ned, concerned for the outcome of the situation, but he himself? He's okay. It's those around him he's not sure about.

But with Ned a little closer, Daneel shifts to put his arm around Ned's waist -- carefully, in case it isn't welcome just now.

"I am properly functioning and we have solved the immediate problem that this outage provides. At the moment, that is a good thing."

"Good," Ned echoes, staring still at the flames as they grow in size and brightness. Daneel's right that they've only solved the most immediate of problems, but Ned's learned to take things one step at a time, here. Who knows what else might have changed by the morning. No use making plans or fretting himself unduly when it is all out of his grasp, anyway. Oftentimes, that total lack of power alarms him, but he can't imagine feeling alarmed right here and right now. He has to snatch these moments of happiness when they are within reach, or else he would get so miserable he isn't sure what he'd do.

"I know I haven't been around as much these last few days," he says, quietly. It's important to him, at least to explain his absences, even if Daneel wouldn't reproach him for them, even if he doesn't think it's his right to feel entitled to a certain amount of Ned's time and attention. "With Charlie missing Meyer's been a bit of a mess, and I promised I'd look after him if something like this happened, and it's hard to do that when I'm not there." A logical enough argument, and one that he thinks Daneel will understand. Daneel gets that sometimes it is important to look after other people; all the same, Ned has missed him. It seems too silly to say so: they'd still seen one another, but not for as long. Even he isn't clingy enough to admit that so easily.

"This is good of you," Daneel says at once, and without jealousy. "I have met Meyer, though not Charlie. He offered to teach me to play poker, but I declined. I can understand it must be difficult for him to cope, if they are friends. I am glad you are able to provide some comfort for him."

It triggers something he's been thinking of, something he's been reading of in the battered paperbacks he brought back from the library. He's been wondering how to apply this knowledge, but he seizes now upon the decision simply to ask.

"There is something I would like to ask you, Ned." And for once, he's not asking if he can ask the question; he's simply going to ask it, after announcing his attention and pausing long enough for Ned to interrupt and deny him. It's a small distinction, but an important one. "I have been researching human relationships, lately, and I have come to the conclusion that a major part of romantic relationships is the taking care of one's partner." A pause. "I don't mean to imply that this is your intention towards Meyer Lansky."

Though, truthfully, if it were, Daneel would gladly step aside.

"But it does seem that a major part of the the literature I have found consist of one party -- most typically a man -- takes care of and provides for the other party -- most typically a woman. Traditional gender roles are irrelevant in our case, of course, but the pattern remains. There is nothing I require for my own well-being, so that leaves me in the role of caretaker. At the same time, in this place I am not capable of providing for you the way is common in these books, and if I could, it would do you no good."

He is, unfortunately, very serious.

"I am concerned that my efforts will be insufficient, even if you don't believe this to be the case at present."

When Daneel starts to speak in that particular grave tone of his, Ned is momentarily worried. He is expecting a serious question - and in a way, it is. For a brief moment he thinks Daneel is jealous of Meyer, or making suppositions about their relationship that are entirely incorrect, but then Daneel corrects that notion before he can even voice it. Once he hears what this is really about, Ned laughs. He knows he shouldn't. Even if Daneel insists he doesn't have a sense of pride to be wounded, it seems cruel. All the same, he cannot help himself. He dissolves into giggles, leaning heavily against Daneel and then burying his face in Daneel's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, shoulders shaking as he tries to get a hold of himself.

"I honestly don't even know where to start," he says, voice rich with amusement and a little breathless with laughter. He wipes the moisture from the corners of his eyes and says, "You're so sweet sometimes, you know." Daneel might not see it that way, but Ned doesn't care. He can find it sweet enough for the both of them.

"Am I right in assuming that the, the ah-" he breaks into another fit of giggles, wonders if the stress from the power going out and the last few days is fueling some of this borderline hysteria of his, "-literature you were using for your research was novels of the romance persuasion?"

When he has Daneel's confirmation, Ned shakes his head sagely, still grinning fit to split his face. "That's your problem right there. Romance novels are not, I repeat, are not meant as instruction manuals." It would seem that Daneel at least came across some rags-to-riches ones, rather than anything involving pirates or savages or misunderstood brooding men, possibly with motorcycles. He meets Daneel's eyes, flushed with laughing, asks, affectionately, "Were you researching because of me?"

Laughter is... not the response he expected. He looks at Ned evenly, rather confused. "Yes, I was. I wish for you to be happy, and I don't have the experience to ensure I am behaving appropriately for a romantic relationship."

It's simple in his mind, logical. Apparently he's wrong, too, so he's going to have to work out what he actually needs to do to accomplish what he means.

"If they are not meant to be taken as an example, then what is the purpose of them?" This is a valid question to him. Mere entertainment isn't a strange concept to him, but why should something be entertaining if it's so completely false?

Whatever his mistake is, though, at least it's somehow "sweet."

Ned laughs again and gives an exaggerated shrug. How can he possibly begin to explain the function of romance novels? If he's going to manage it at all, it certainly isn't going to be with a straight face.

"Escapism," he declares, after a few moments to marshall his thoughts, "People want to be swept away on a fantasy. Some books are meant to give you examples of how to live your lives, but a lot of them are about imagining something completely different to your own life."

He runs a hand through his hair, knows he's explaining poorly. A logical, even sociological approach will probably be more comprehensible and useful to Daneel So he begins again, "So here's your problem. You're not really the target audience for those books. You said the traditional gender roles don't matter in our case, but you can't just take that out of the stories you read and still understand what they're for." Ned shakes his head. He's really not the one who ought to be explaining this kind of thing. He can only go on anecdotal evidence, "I know marriage is different on Aurora, but where and when those books were written, there are certain ideas about how women and men who are romantically involved ought to treat one another."

He sighs, eyes turning back to the fire as he explains, "This is a broad generalization, but I think a lot of time, the women who read lots of romance novels have got husbands or boyfriends who expect them to do all the care-taking. They're supposed to adore them and feed them and pamper them and put all their own needs and desires and interests on the back burner while they cater to the men in their lives. Which is why it's exciting to imagine the situation reversed. To imagine someone taking care of them for a change. Adoring them, looking out for them, solving all their problems, instead of vice-versa."

"Then what I took to be an example of typical relationships of a time closer to your own is a fantasy, meant to provide comfort when a better situation is not possible. I have made a great miscalculation."

That just strikes Daneel as very sad, a regrettable situation. If this is the truth, though, then neither possibility (either the one in the books or the one Ned describes) is ideal.

"What is ideal, then? If men wish for women to care for them, and women wish for men to care for them, then ideally in a relationship both parties should take the role of caretaker in equal measure. Is this correct?"

That seems very reasonable, a very simple solution for a thorny problem, but to his point of view there remains one complication.

"I do not need providing for, Ned, though it does please me that I am the object of such emotions from you. I do not need feeding or pampering, nor for you put all your needs, desires, and interests aside for me. I do not want that, and it would grieve me greatly if you did. Does this present a problem?"

Ned is tempted to merely shrug, to tell Daneel that he has no more authority to speak about ideal relationships than Daneel does. But he decides not to. He might not feel comfortable pretending he knows what is best in terms of romance, but the fact is that he does have more experience with it than Daneel does, even if his experience mostly has come in the form of how not to go about things.

"I don't think it does." He leans against Daneel, tries to think of the most perfectly logical way to phrase what is, to him, intuitive, intangible, an obvious emotional truth. "There's a lot more to it than caretaking. I know that's what those books focused on, and what I was just talking about, but it's more than just that. No human's quite as self-sufficient as you are, maybe, but there are plenty of people who don't like being taken care of. In theory you could have two very independent types like that in a relationship and they could still be very happy together."

That's it; he needs to frame this in terms of happiness. "It's a lot simpler than you're making it out to be. There's no set pattern or single definition that everyone follows. It's up to the two of us to decide what we want, and what makes us happy." He sighs heavily, feels the need to add, "I'm not an expert on this stuff, Daneel. I never really had anyone around to teach me. I've dated people who wanted to take care of me, and I wasn't happy. I've dated people who wanted me to take care of them, and I wasn't happy. But being around you... hearing that I've pleased you, knowing that you'd go and try to research human relationships for my sake- it makes me happier than I've been in a long, long time. I don't see how there could possibly be a problem with that."

He's... overthinking this. That's a problem, because thinking is far easier than simply feeling, particularly in these situations where he's so completely out of his depth. Thinking is clear, logical, and while it's inaccurate to say he doesn't have emotions, they are different, muted. It's obvious, though, that the issue is one of experience, not knowledge.

And experience often means making mistakes. These ones are of little import, but some could harm Ned, too.

"Thank you for being patient with me, Ned." Daneel gives a little a sigh, and leans over to give Ned a kiss. "I can see that I am making many mistakes, and for that I am sorry, but you are very important to me. I'm glad that I am able to make you happy. I am only trying to ensure that I remain able to keep you happy, but this is clearly not the way I should be going about this."

Ned kisses Daneel back, eyes slipping shut, a smile curled up at one corner of his mouth. He knows that, like relationships themselves, making mistakes is something comparatively new to Daneel. Those damned Laws meant that most of the time he feels very certain about his decisions, has an exact system to measure them by without uncertainty or indecision. All of this is uncharted territory, and undoubtedly frightening for Daneel.

"No need to be sorry. It's pretty much what I did, when I was younger. Not quite so consciously, but I definitely tried to act like the people from movies and books, to say the things they said and want the things they wanted because I thought that was was what people expected from me. But it only ever made me miserable, the way those books made you feel like you weren't good enough for me." He huffs out a little scoff, a nonverbal as if. Daneel might not be perfect for him, but he's a hell of a lot closer than anyone else Ned's met.

He understands all too well that Daneel might be worried that there will come a time when he's no longer useful, or wanted. It might come in different packaging, and from a different source, but Ned knows all about planning to avert future abandonment, trying to see into the future to know how and when it will come and what he can do to stop it from happening.

"You're very important to me, too." It's the kind of thing he knows Daneel can sense, but he relishes saying it aloud, regardless. He's starting to warm up, finally, between the fire and Daneel's close proximity, and he feels more at peace than he has in a while. "Anything else from those books that gave you pause?" He wants to make sure there weren't any other notions that Daneel picked up that might be inaccurate.

Daneel considers the question for some moments, frowning faintly. A lot of the books seemed incomprehensible to him, in all honesty.

"I am not certain if this, too, is an artifact of the genre, but I find that there is a very large significance placed on being in a relationship and in the sex that occurs within it. For example, characters who are not in a relationship are questioned as to why they are not, and when they are, a major part of their relationship is how enjoyable sexual intercourse is."

He takes one of Ned's hands in his, holds it warmly.

"Do we have sex enough to satisfy you?"

Ned laughs a little at that, though not nearly as heartily as he had before. It's too amusing, forming some kind of picture of just the kind of book Daneel must have been reading, imagining him reading it with his habitual look of dignified gravity. That image, plus his current frown and note of honest confusion, are utterly endearing to Ned. He loves that Daneel is free from the very attitudes he's referencing.

"It's partly an artifact, partly not. Some people really do put that a lot of significance on their love lives, and other people don't." Which isn't an answer to Daneel's question, yet, but he's laying the groundwork, emphasizing the fact that humans come with all kinds of value systems that do not always match up. "I'm sure it's the same on Aurora, that some people are more, uh-" he struggles to find a good word, finds it a little absurd that even with an interlocutor as frank and nonjudgemental as Daneel, he has a difficult time making himself talk about sex in any kind of straightforward way, "-more interested than others. And you know that before you, I hadn't really- had all that much interest."

None of which is an answer. The truth is, even though the two of them worked out that Ned can ask Daneel for sex without exploiting or upsetting him, he's still adjusting to being the one to initiate things, still a little shy when it comes to asking. Which is why he feels his cheeks burning, why he speaks more quickly than usual when he says, "Is it contradictory if I answer yes but also take this moment to, ah- I've been meaning to bring up- maybe sometime we could try, um- something... new?"

"It isn't in the least contradictory," Daneel says, emphatic in his promise. "I want you to be happy, Ned."

He slides his hand around Ned's face, around his cheek, and leans in to kiss him, gentle and tender. He doesn't want Ned to be embarrassed, either, though it's harder to do anything about that. "If you wish more, then I will gladly do what I can."

That this would happen some time was almost inevitable. That Ned is comfortable with the amount of sex is fine, but if he wants to do other things, then anything in his power to please Ned must be done, in an entirely unselfish way.

"What would you like?"

Edited 2013-08-19 06:54 (UTC)

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."

"The piemaker who thought a humaniform robot was worthy of love," Daneel corrects, seriously. For him, it is a serious matter, something he still can't quite comprehend. He kisses Ned, very gently, cupping Ned's face in his hands before wrapping his arms around him. It's... bold, for him, but he's at least beginning to feel like has the... the right to choose to do so, to take the initiative.

"You can tell me later, in privacy, if that is what you prefer." Of course Ned can; anything that would make Ned happy is worth doing. In some ways, he orbits Ned, focusing on him, hovering around him and trying to please him. "You may tell me any time you feel comfortable doing so."

Daneel leans his head on Ned's shoulder. He remembers, still, the way Ned smelled, and he remembers it now.

The way Daneel rephrases his tagline, and the glimpse that it gives to his continued belief that he's unworthy, sends an odd sort of shiver down Ned's spine. He can't quite identify a single word for how it makes him feel - glad and melancholy and almost overwhelmed by the intensity of his own love for Daneel.

Ned's always known, in some part of himself, that it would be like this, if he ever fell in love. That he would fall fast, fall completely, hopelessly, inescapably. Maybe that was why he had kept everyone at arm's length for so long. It's a dangerous thing, to love anyone this much. He knows it leaves him vulnerable, and there's a tiny sliver of fear buried with the other emotions. The other shoe is bound to drop, sooner or later. All the evidence of his previous life points towards it. If he is soaring this high on this much happiness, he's sure that having it taken away is going to shatter him.

Daneel's boldness does not go amiss; just as Ned is on the verge of thinking too much about possible consequences and what he'd do if he lost Daneel, he's distracted by Daneel kissing him, holding him in just the way he wants to be held. It's a relief and he sighs gratefully, reaching up and running his fingers through Daneel's hair. Ned doesn't think much as he's doing it; it's an automatic gesture of affection, smoothing his fingers through the strands, gently unknotting the occasional little tangle.

Perhaps he ought to leave it, ought not to say anything more on the subject. But as he's looking into the shifting light of fire, listening to its soft, comforting sound, he decides he ought to say it.

"You are, you know. Worthy of love." Then - and it's more of a struggle to him - he manages, in a quieter voice, "I think we both are."

Because Ned understands - in a different way, and for different reasons - where Daneel is coming from. The fact that he can say that now, and mean it, is a small victory that Daneel played a large role in bringing about. It might be in part because of his programming, and it might be complicated, but Daneel values him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. And the presence of that in his life is making it possible for Ned, slowly but surely, to begin valuing himself, too.

After all the chaos and confusion of the day, it's a relief to just sit here with Daneel, to be able to cherish a small amount of silence. Ned likes that about Daneel; that he doesn't get bored, doesn't insist that they have to spend every second doing something. He can occupy himself in his own thoughts - has a lot of practice doing so, while the rest of them sleep - and lets Ned have as much time as he needs with his own.

So the time slips past them, measured not in minutes or hours but in the size and intensity of the fire. When it begins to fade, slipping down into red embers, Ned breaks the silence, letting out a long sigh and easing himself out of Daneel's arms, stretching and then getting to his feet. It occurs to him how beautiful he thinks Daneel looks, in the dimness, how no matter what the scientists might try to do to his face, some corner of his brain and heart and soul must always remember the shape of his face.

He offers a hand to Daneel, smiling warmly and nodding his head in the direction of his bedroom.

Daneel rises, taking Ned's hand -- though he has no need for the support. It's an entirely extraneous gesture, one only made out of affection. He takes Ned's hand because he wants to, no other reason.

Words seems peculiarly awkward, unnecessary, and he's silent as he walks the two of them down the hallway to the bedroom. Whatever else might be going on, they have each other -- perhaps a very unlikely couple indeed, but no less valid for that.

He waits for Ned to tell him what he has been thinking about, too patient to press the issue, but there's a curiosity in him, an expectation, and once they are shut away into Ned's room again, he bends to kiss him.

Ned is more careful, this time, not to bump into anything as he makes his way into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. He has a moment to be glad that he's a neat person and that there's nothing to trip over on the floor, and then Daneel is kissing him. It's a little unexpected, but he leans into it at once, eyes shutting against the almost complete darkness, hands coming up to run through Daneel's hair again, his thumbs feeling out Daneel's cheekbones, the curve of his jaw and ear.

Somehow, everything seems more intimate, more completely private with the electricity gone. It's more complete than merely having the lights switched off. There is almost no illumination coming in through the window (it just figures all this would happen on a night with almost no moonlight). It is just Daneel and him in the darkness, and Ned is glad to have him here. Without him, it would seem much more sinister, more empty, more cold. But he has Daneel to hold onto, and so he does. He turns them around, walking his way backwards to the bed and sinking onto it when the backs of his legs bump against it.

"I was, ah-" Ned huffs a laugh, grinning in exasperation at himself, "It's funny, I was always so adamant that I wasn't a prude, but I'm really no good at talking about sex. Guess I'm not all that much bigger than silly puritanical taboos, after all."

All of which is, naturally, stalling. Ned kicks off his shoes and socks in the dark, stretches out his hands in Daneel's direction to untuck his shirt from his pants. "I was wondering if you would, um. For lack of a better term... if you'd fuck me." Ned can feel his face going hot with embarrassment, knows Daneel will be able to sense it in him, along with everything else. "Always kind of wondered what that's like."

Daneel considers this question with customary gravity. There's nothing impossible about Ned's request, though it does involve a certain amount of caution. If Ned wants to try it, he can see no reason why not. Is it something he knows how to do? Yes, in theory. He's blind to this, but he will act as he has in the past: experimenting to see what pleases Ned best, because that's what it's about for him. It's all about making Ned happy.

He slides his hand along the curve of Ned's back, and he answers first with a kiss. "I can do this for you, if you're certain. However, we will require lubrication of some variety."

It's an important point, from his perspective. His hand comes to rest on the back of Ned's neck, and he kisses him again, delicate and careful.

Ned kisses back, inexpressibly glad that Daneel isn't laughing at him. He never would; Ned knows that. Because he is a good person (Ned puts a faint emphasis on that classification, even when it's only in his mind). Because there's not a single shred of malice or cruelty in him.

"I'm certain."

The matter-of-fact way in which Daneel announces the need for lubrication breaks through any last lingering trace of shame that is plaguing Ned, sends him into a brief fit of giggles that he stifles, head dropping to Daneel's shoulder. When he feels Daneel's hand on the back of his neck he lifts his head, kissing him again, grinning at first, though it disappears as Ned deepens the kiss.

He pulls away after a minute or so and says, now slightly breathless, "I, uh. I've got something we can use." Ned slips his hands under the hem of Daneel's shirt, runs them up and down the sides of his ribs. It's such a strange and delightful thing for him, touching Daneel. Being able to do it easily, confidently. He's not sure he'll ever properly get used to it.

Ned starts feeling his way towards the wardrobe, eyes open wide against the darkness, opening the top drawer and feeling around amongst the various socks. Eventually, with a little noise of triumph, he brandishes a small plastic bottle. "Planned ahead," he says, sounding rather pleased with himself.

"I see you did."

Daneel is... faintly surprised. That Ned was likely to have been working up to this question isn't hard to believe, but he hadn't expected this degree of preparation. He takes the bottle, looking it over, and considers. It will work. This is more than sufficient.

But he welcomes Ned back into his arms with a deep and tender kiss. There's a sense of... power, perhaps, that comes of being able to affect Ned like this, or perhaps for Daneel, to whom power means nothing, it's more akin to art. There's something of the artist in how he can strike a reaction from Ned with such a very small action, drawing happiness out of him like music from an instrument. Whatever it is, it's... compelling.

He peels Ned out of his clothes, his touch gentle. "I want you to be happy, Ned. I will stop at once if I realise I'm harming you, but you must communicate with me. I cannot -- I cannot think of bringing you discomfort."

"Hey," Ned says softly. He quite likes letting Daneel take his clothes off one by one, with his usual odd mix of efficiency and tenderness, but when he says that, Ned stills his hands. "You're not going to harm me, okay?" He cups Daneel's face in his hands, leaning in for an emphatic kiss. Daneel might insist that he's happy to do this kind of thing for Ned, but he realizes it is a lot to ask. That it is new territory for them both, and thus perhaps a bit daunting - even frightening - for Daneel. Ned is a touch nervous, too, but it's only a sliver of apprehension, accenting his overall feeling of security, of happiness, and of excitement.

A grin spreads its way across his mouth; Ned tugs off his underwear and stretches out on the bed with more enthusiasm than grace, pulling Daneel along with him. "Besides, you know I, uh- tend to communicate plenty." Ned is referring, of course, to the fact that, the few times they've done anything like this, Ned's proved rather chatty. He can't seem to help it. Once his mind starts going fuzzy around the edges, the way it's starting to do now, things just start coming out of his mouth unchecked.

"C'mere," he says, a plaintive note in his voice, and when Daneel kisses him again he makes a wordless noise of appreciation, muffled between their mouths, hips lifting off the bed an inch or so of their own accord. "Don't know the best way to go about this," he admits, letting his head fall back, pulse coming a bit quicker now than it was before. "I mean, I've seen-" he breaks off with a little laugh, "-but taking cues from pornography makes even less sense than using romance novels for- oh, you know." He gives up on the sentence most of the way through; much more rewarding to kiss any bit of Daneel that he can reach rather than try to finish a coherent thought.

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porn warning? porn warning

porn warning :)

no subject

no subject

no subject