[ Her body language is enough to communicate that she's hesitant about it, if not nervous, and Ignis is just about ready to tell her she doesn't have to - that he'll turn all the lights out and make love fully clothed under the covers, if that's what it takes to make her comfortable - but then her eyes take on a shine of determination he's familiar with, and she whisks her shirt and bra up and off before he can speak -
and then he can't, for a moment. She's like something from an old Solheim painting, pale and perfect, her breasts small and high and her hair spilling around her in a fall of silk. Rude as it is to stare, he can't help himself, feeling his cheeks shading with a flush as he tries to remember how to breathe. ]
Oh, much the same as it was before. That I'm the luckiest man alive.
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and then he can't, for a moment. She's like something from an old Solheim painting, pale and perfect, her breasts small and high and her hair spilling around her in a fall of silk. Rude as it is to stare, he can't help himself, feeling his cheeks shading with a flush as he tries to remember how to breathe. ]
Oh, much the same as it was before. That I'm the luckiest man alive.