Mm, it isn't often I hear a name with so many consonants near one another.
[they have no opinions on the name anyway—there's always the option of just giving him a nickname, if it comes down to it. for Nimah, it's more likely they'll just work at it until it works out, if the two get along well (and it doesn't seem they won't, really).
... they can hear him moving, without the context of his devious grin, and it's abrupt in the moments before they'd intended to stand—]
... Ah. [weight thunks down over Nimah's lap and they can't help but be glad to have moved their hair. not that there's anything wrong with a little pinch, but being able to lift their head is more helpful than not. his muscle settles nicely over the leaner muscle of their thighs, a tangle of strength on strength.] Are you expecting something more, settling so abruptly?
[it's asked with a laugh, though now that he's here, they can hardly escape the almost overwhelming sense of something. it'd been there in the air in fits and starts, but here nestled amid the boxer's scent... something specific to this room, they think.
ah, but that's not why they're here, is it.]
I am quite stubborn, so you may have to be clear with me what you want... if you enjoy the idea that I was propositioning you. But yes. This is more than close enough for me to get an idea.
[they're about the same height, Nimah thinks, based on how soundly his feet settle in the space between them. much more heavily muscled, though. this is confirmed as their hands glide over his thighs, following the curve of the muscle up and to the outside of his waist. every movement is... carefully polite, mostly because they do find they want to have an idea of what he looks like. those hands are delicate in their motions, heavily callused though they are.
and yes, if they were to be honest, there's selfishness in that curiosity. Nimah isn't a saint, and Wriothesley is very confident and very naked in their lap, cool water still dripping down from soaked hair.]
... Are you a fistfighter of some kind? [an absent question, when their hands draw up over a shoulder and down along the swell and curve of his arms. the muscles are too evenly developed for other heavy weapons, they think... but it will really be up to him how much he wants to talk about. it still doesn't answer where some muscles are built for just fighting and others seem to be able to hold something, but it's a start.]
no subject
[they have no opinions on the name anyway—there's always the option of just giving him a nickname, if it comes down to it. for Nimah, it's more likely they'll just work at it until it works out, if the two get along well (and it doesn't seem they won't, really).
... they can hear him moving, without the context of his devious grin, and it's abrupt in the moments before they'd intended to stand—]
... Ah. [weight thunks down over Nimah's lap and they can't help but be glad to have moved their hair. not that there's anything wrong with a little pinch, but being able to lift their head is more helpful than not. his muscle settles nicely over the leaner muscle of their thighs, a tangle of strength on strength.] Are you expecting something more, settling so abruptly?
[it's asked with a laugh, though now that he's here, they can hardly escape the almost overwhelming sense of something. it'd been there in the air in fits and starts, but here nestled amid the boxer's scent... something specific to this room, they think.
ah, but that's not why they're here, is it.]
I am quite stubborn, so you may have to be clear with me what you want... if you enjoy the idea that I was propositioning you. But yes. This is more than close enough for me to get an idea.
[they're about the same height, Nimah thinks, based on how soundly his feet settle in the space between them. much more heavily muscled, though. this is confirmed as their hands glide over his thighs, following the curve of the muscle up and to the outside of his waist. every movement is... carefully polite, mostly because they do find they want to have an idea of what he looks like. those hands are delicate in their motions, heavily callused though they are.
and yes, if they were to be honest, there's selfishness in that curiosity. Nimah isn't a saint, and Wriothesley is very confident and very naked in their lap, cool water still dripping down from soaked hair.]
... Are you a fistfighter of some kind? [an absent question, when their hands draw up over a shoulder and down along the swell and curve of his arms. the muscles are too evenly developed for other heavy weapons, they think... but it will really be up to him how much he wants to talk about. it still doesn't answer where some muscles are built for just fighting and others seem to be able to hold something, but it's a start.]