She snuggles him and looks sort of like she wants to start crying again but doesn't want to turn him on some more.

Snuggles. Hairpetting.

"It's what I thought I was signing up for."

"I... don't want you hurt. I don't want..." He sighs. He hugs her. "I want to be able to lie in the grass with my head in your lap and watch the sunrise together. Without - without you being afraid of me. This is the closest I've ever come to... not immediately losing something like that, when the person involved finds out who I am."

Snuggle.

"I want that too," she murmurs. "It was--one of the things I was thinking, when I--asked you not to be a fantasy. That if I never got to sit petting your hair with your head in my lap again that would be--something to grieve."

He nudges her toward the end of the couch and curls up and puts his head in her lap.

...She smiles down at him and pets his hair.

He sighs softly.

It's... not really the same, but... it's still nice. This is a good thing to have.

(and she's so pretty when she cries, he wants her, but - sex slaves and sunrises are plentiful; this is rare.)

Right now she's not really looking at him differently than she did before she found out. Same soft contented smile.

Aw. He smiles back up at her.

(his his his - he can have whatever he wants and he wants her crying in his lap again, wants to fuck her while she falls apart - but he also wants what they're doing right now, and he cannot have both these things.)

She continues to pet his hair happily, oblivious to his internal conflict.

He closes his eyes and hugs her knee and does not do anything regrettable.

Eventually her stomach growls. Rather loudly.

He waves a hand vaguely without even opening his eyes, and a little round table sprouts out of the floor, growing like a highly motivated and unusually shaped tree; when it reaches the right height and flattens out, little green twigs sprout up from the pale wood of the tabletop and bloom into enormous flowers, and each of those when it opens contains a plate of delicious-looking food.

She is startled into stopping petting his hair for a moment, then giggles and beams and resumes while eating one-handed.

He nuzzles her leg, cozily.

"They did not feed me this morning," she sniffs disdainfully. "Unprofessional."

Snort.

She finishes eating. She continues petting his hair for a while, then pauses, makes a thoughtful noise, and gently extracts herself, only to lie down beside him and snuggle up.

The couch is more than roomy enough to support this ambition. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek. (The table, dishes and leftovers and all, withers and crumbles away to nothing; the place where its roots sank into the floor ripples and smooths over.)

Snuggle.

"I don't want--losing all your friends when they find out who you really are sounds awful. I don't want to do that to you."

...he cuddles her.

"Well. Thank you for that. It's - I can't really argue that it's not my fault, though, you know?"

"I know. But if you hadn't rescued me I would never have found out, and--penalizing my finding out seems like bad incentive."

Snuggle.

"I was so scared."

He pets her hair and kisses her forehead.

She gives a contented sigh and a snuggly little wriggle and kisses him on the cheek and closes her eyes and takes a nap. She didn't get a lot of sleep, the night previous.