Not drinking her own urine or living on top of a mountain yet. Hopefully she's not a Bear Grylls fan, or else she'll start getting ideas. Shudder.
He doesn't realize what she's doing at first. When she licks her lips, he think she's just preparing herself to unleash a long string of emotion at him. That, he would know how to deal with, and could easily abide. Then she lifts his head up, and he thinks she's just going to get up and move downstairs, maybe give him the silent treatment. That, he could deal with, too, that would be fine.
But, oh, no.
She has to go and do something like this.
Even once her mouth is against his, groping clumsily over his lips, he still doesn't really realize what's going on for a few seconds. At first he just expects it to be a quick, girlish little smooch, but it just keeps going. The instinctual portion of his brain turns 'attractive girl kissing you' to 'you should kiss her back', and for a second before he catches himself, he does. His lips part and he breathes out against her, and then--then the alarm bells go off, because this isn't just some attractive girl, this is his daughter. But the alarm bells have the exact opposite effect that they would in any normal human being; he pulls away, yes, but it's with the look of a conflicted animal, like a wolf staring at a big steak sitting right in the middle of a rusty bear trap. Especially when he considers his own experiences with just this situation.
Like father, like daughter, indeed. The temptation overwhelms him, pounds in his skull, and he's seen her as a peripherally sexual being for awhile but now it's in his face, and now, of all times, Christ, goddamn, she's beautiful, and the very idea is horrific, and that in itself makes it intensely attractive.
One hand upon her shoulder, the other gently pats her cheek; he opens his mouth, then closes it again, staring thoughtfully down at the palm of her hand before looking back up into those hypnotic eyes that have always captured him. It's hard to find the words, because he doesn't have any idea what stance to take. He knows the responsible stance, but someone once tried to take the responsible stance with him, and it didn't work out well for her. The only way he can learn lessons is through the negative examples of others. But, still, there has to be a way to approach this.
"I'm not your boyfriend, Salome. You shouldn't--kiss me like that. It's ill-advised." He purses his lips, his expression firm as his low tone, and it's hard to keep himself from looking interested, to resist the desire to give her another, far better kiss, to teach her about it rather than let her be defiled further by the bumbling efforts of filthy teenaged boys. Still, he stuffs it away. Responsible, responsible. A cursory effort, anyway. "Why don't you tell me where that came from, hm?"
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-07-29 08:24 am (UTC)He doesn't realize what she's doing at first. When she licks her lips, he think she's just preparing herself to unleash a long string of emotion at him. That, he would know how to deal with, and could easily abide. Then she lifts his head up, and he thinks she's just going to get up and move downstairs, maybe give him the silent treatment. That, he could deal with, too, that would be fine.
But, oh, no.
She has to go and do something like this.
Even once her mouth is against his, groping clumsily over his lips, he still doesn't really realize what's going on for a few seconds. At first he just expects it to be a quick, girlish little smooch, but it just keeps going. The instinctual portion of his brain turns 'attractive girl kissing you' to 'you should kiss her back', and for a second before he catches himself, he does. His lips part and he breathes out against her, and then--then the alarm bells go off, because this isn't just some attractive girl, this is his daughter. But the alarm bells have the exact opposite effect that they would in any normal human being; he pulls away, yes, but it's with the look of a conflicted animal, like a wolf staring at a big steak sitting right in the middle of a rusty bear trap. Especially when he considers his own experiences with just this situation.
Like father, like daughter, indeed. The temptation overwhelms him, pounds in his skull, and he's seen her as a peripherally sexual being for awhile but now it's in his face, and now, of all times, Christ, goddamn, she's beautiful, and the very idea is horrific, and that in itself makes it intensely attractive.
One hand upon her shoulder, the other gently pats her cheek; he opens his mouth, then closes it again, staring thoughtfully down at the palm of her hand before looking back up into those hypnotic eyes that have always captured him. It's hard to find the words, because he doesn't have any idea what stance to take. He knows the responsible stance, but someone once tried to take the responsible stance with him, and it didn't work out well for her. The only way he can learn lessons is through the negative examples of others. But, still, there has to be a way to approach this.
"I'm not your boyfriend, Salome. You shouldn't--kiss me like that. It's ill-advised." He purses his lips, his expression firm as his low tone, and it's hard to keep himself from looking interested, to resist the desire to give her another, far better kiss, to teach her about it rather than let her be defiled further by the bumbling efforts of filthy teenaged boys. Still, he stuffs it away. Responsible, responsible. A cursory effort, anyway. "Why don't you tell me where that came from, hm?"