Yeah, well, she should have thought about the fact that she didn't want to talk about it before she tried to fuck him. As Richard has somehow failed to learn his entire life but is more than willing to impart, actions--even the most pleasant, mind-blowing ones--have consequences.
He lies there on her bed, feeling bizarre, every glimpse around her room now revealing her in a new light. He feels like he's in a completely foreign land. What the fuck, what the fuck just happened? Christ, that was magnificent, but what should he say? Is there anything to say? How do you have a post-coital 'so we're clear on how this isn't a relationship' talk with your own daughter?
Jesus. Actions really do have consequences. Shit.
But even with that thought in mind, he can't wipe that stupid grin from his face. The consequences are but a small price to pay for the sudden solidifying of his fondness, the way it increases in depth and intensity the more he thinks about her. Christ, he helped her pull her teeth when she was a kid. What in the fuck. He can't decide if this is one of the best or one of the worst things that's ever happened to him. But he supposes that's in keeping with his feelings about his favorite little accident in general.
By the time she returns to curl up with him, that pretty little head leaning against his shoulder, his eyes are closed and his mind is gunning on overdrive even if the rest of him wants to eat and then hibernate for winter. Still, he smiles, kissing her forehead and stroking her arm.
"So." Then he can't think of what to say next, so he just says again, "...So."
Yeah, this is going great.
"I--" He cuts himself off with a chuckle, placing his hand over his eyes and groaning. "My God, Salome, I don't even-- first-- I'm glad we did that. And I love you, very, very much. Very much, especially after that, I'm glad i have a new way to show you how much you mean to me. But we need to have a little discussion about what that was, and where we're going from here, because I think-- okay, you know? Here." He lifts his hand from his eyes and gathers her hair back from her face, his fingertips grazing down her cheekbones. His tone is as gentle as he can manage, already drained as it is from their activities. "Why don't you tell me what you think you mean when you say that you love me. Let's start there."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-07-30 03:33 am (UTC)He lies there on her bed, feeling bizarre, every glimpse around her room now revealing her in a new light. He feels like he's in a completely foreign land. What the fuck, what the fuck just happened? Christ, that was magnificent, but what should he say? Is there anything to say? How do you have a post-coital 'so we're clear on how this isn't a relationship' talk with your own daughter?
Jesus. Actions really do have consequences. Shit.
But even with that thought in mind, he can't wipe that stupid grin from his face. The consequences are but a small price to pay for the sudden solidifying of his fondness, the way it increases in depth and intensity the more he thinks about her. Christ, he helped her pull her teeth when she was a kid. What in the fuck. He can't decide if this is one of the best or one of the worst things that's ever happened to him. But he supposes that's in keeping with his feelings about his favorite little accident in general.
By the time she returns to curl up with him, that pretty little head leaning against his shoulder, his eyes are closed and his mind is gunning on overdrive even if the rest of him wants to eat and then hibernate for winter. Still, he smiles, kissing her forehead and stroking her arm.
"So." Then he can't think of what to say next, so he just says again, "...So."
Yeah, this is going great.
"I--" He cuts himself off with a chuckle, placing his hand over his eyes and groaning. "My God, Salome, I don't even-- first-- I'm glad we did that. And I love you, very, very much. Very much, especially after that, I'm glad i have a new way to show you how much you mean to me. But we need to have a little discussion about what that was, and where we're going from here, because I think-- okay, you know? Here." He lifts his hand from his eyes and gathers her hair back from her face, his fingertips grazing down her cheekbones. His tone is as gentle as he can manage, already drained as it is from their activities. "Why don't you tell me what you think you mean when you say that you love me. Let's start there."