[ And now Shaw’s in front of him, all coiled strength and dark hair, her eyes watchful and focused. He’s always liked that about her, Carver thinks, but he never let it drift further than that. Sometimes he let his gaze linger for a moment but never any longer. Professionalism matters. Those lines, drawn ever so carefully in the metaphorical sand, matter. You have to know what you are. What your role demands and denies in turn.
But it’s been a long time since he’s let himself touch anyone like this, longer than he’d care to admit even if asked, and it feels good to reach for Shaw in turn. To know that Root’s gaze is on both of them now too, catlike and satisfied. He hadn’t realized he’d like that.
He watches Root’s hands on Shaw, holding her close, and thinks, all right. He hums and leans in to kiss Shaw briefly, testing the waters more than not, and then he leans back to shrug out of his jacket and then his shirt. Letting both fall. ]
no subject
But it’s been a long time since he’s let himself touch anyone like this, longer than he’d care to admit even if asked, and it feels good to reach for Shaw in turn. To know that Root’s gaze is on both of them now too, catlike and satisfied. He hadn’t realized he’d like that.
He watches Root’s hands on Shaw, holding her close, and thinks, all right. He hums and leans in to kiss Shaw briefly, testing the waters more than not, and then he leans back to shrug out of his jacket and then his shirt. Letting both fall. ]