Her hands disappears in his, so soft, thin and pale in his own that are both rough and thick, that he can't help but imagine what there would happen if he were to squeeze just that bit tighter, putting a little bit more pressure on her joints and bones.

He doesn't, never will let that thought become anything more than what it already is, but the danger is there, in the back of his head, always.

He could hurt her so very easily, one moment while not paying attention and she could be broken, in flesh if not in soul. She is stronger than everyone else he knows, both in mind and body, but the frailness of her shape cloaks that strength so well that he sometimes forget it's there.

She gets annoyed with him – with how he can get both overprotective and overbearing – but she doesn't complain, or, she doesn't complain to him. She allows him the hand on the small of her back, guiding and a reassurance that if she fall he will catch, and while she might glare as he steps in front of her, lengthening his spine and flexing his arms, as they walk past people that never did have the best of opinions of them, she doesn't say anything.

He knows, objectively, that she can defend herself more than fine, but his mother always say that his heart rules him more than his mind, and he agrees, his body usually moving without him even thinking about it.

He lifts his hands to her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones as the rest of his fingers scratch slightly against her scalp. Her skin is smooth, unscarred if not for the connected three lines on her forehead, and makes him feel unworthy, of having this, having her.

Her eyes are closed, hiding that green that he loves so much from him, and if it weren't for the slightest of twitches of her fingers where touches his thighs he'd think she was asleep. She isn't, though, just allowing him time to explore, and the knowledge that she is simply letting him is humbling.

Bowing his head, he presses his chapped lips against her forehead, moving to her cheeks, her nose and then finally her mouth. His tongue darts forward, licking her lips briefly before pushing inside.

She tastes fresh, minty like the gums she likes to chew on, and the kiss turns hotter, more scorching and ravishing, as she starts to move with him instead of simply receiving. Her eyes open and her hands come up to get lost in the red tresses of his hair, tugging, just slightly, forcing him closer.

The position is somewhat uncomfortable, his neck aching from the bend forced on it, but he can endure. He's prepared to deal with far worse just to be able to continue being exactly where he is, shielding her with his body, sampling her with small bites and touches as she rests beneath him.

He drags away his mouth from hers, panting and feeling the flush of red on his cheeks, and she laughs, quietly, small puffs of air on his skin.

"What?"

Her smile is brilliant, pronounced dimples and white teeth, and he can't help but grin back.

She strokes a hand on his right cheek, nails catching on the coarse hairs on his jaw. "You're almost as red as your hair," she says, humor evident in her tone. "But don't worry, darling, flustered is a good look on you."

"Oh?"

"Oh indeed, now get back to what you were doing." Her smirk turns sultry, hungry and enticing, and he can't do anything but her bidding, putting his hands around her thin chest to drag her further up their bed, putting her in a much more accessible position for him to bend down to kiss. She didn't weigh much, and he was stronger than most, so it wasn't really hard to move her as he wished.

"You comfortable?" he asks, unable not to.

She sighs, but her eyes are fond, and as she breathes out a yes against his lips he lets himself relax into the kiss, tongue out and alive, palms and fingers playing with the displayed skin on her arm.

He can allow himself, both of them, this.