He still doesn't know what he's doing, and his usual snit of an answer is broken off as she moves him once more, stopping him from gripping so tightly. Mouth open slightly, that little confused frown at her, watching her movements more than her face.

Then: "Comfort is a lie, only pain follows." His fingers still settle widely apart. Her body is so small that his hand covered the breadth of any of her limbs easily, gripping then loosening to brush over her in curiosity. It's not unfamiliarity, he knows her, knows every inch of her.

But not like this - and in his need to be best, to be right, to be given a purpose, he looks up at her briefly in open want of affirmation. Is he doing this right? Is this what she wanted?