Blue eyes were drawn towards the movement Michelangelo provided, and Fenrir donned a fake smile as the man set their food before them, flurrying away almost as fast as he had come. When they were once again alone Fenrir took one last sip of his wine, draining the glass and staring at it, still touching the cool, clear material.
“Revenge is one word for it. Destiny, I suppose, is another.” He waved it away. “Come. We should eat, before it cools.”
“Yes, Fenrir,” Summer responded wryly, already spreading her napkin across her lap. The next few minutes disappeared in the consumption of the delicious pasta, until initial hunger was sated. Laying her fork down, Summer picked up her glass and eyed Fenrir over the top of it.
Michelangelo notwithstanding, she could already tell that she was going to spend a lot of her daydreaming time thinking about Fenrir after he had to leave. However he’d been turned human, his human form was extremely attractive, and his polite, warm personality just made the attraction stronger. Touching him with her gift, of course, heightened it even more; but that was a side effect she was used to.
Pressing her lips together, she forced her gaze away and back to her plate. She could at least try not to ogle him openly.
Fenrir had been enjoying his veal Marsala innocently, and wiped at his mouth with the napkin, still looking down at the plate as he set his fork aside and swallowed.
“Are you going to finally tell me if there is something on my face? You have been staring at me all night. Perhaps there is something burdening your mind?” His eyes had a rehearsed innocent serenity to them, twinkling just right with the hint of mischief. He did so love to tease her a little; put her on the spot. It was rather… cute to watch.
It took Summer a split second to register the comment before she burst out laughing. “Fenrir!” She couldn’t say anything else for a minute between laughing and hiding her face. “Okay, you got me. I am watching you. There’s nothing wrong with your face, which is the problem.” Another bubble of laughter interrupted her.
He hid a slight smirk behind his hands, folded before his mouth as he feigned not knowing what she meant. “I am a problem?”
“Yes!” she giggled. Shoving the chair back, Summer got up again, stepped around, and pulled his hands gently down from his face. She so short, and he so tall, they were nearly at a level, and, oh so carefully, she projected her desire for him, taking care to shape it as a foreign emotion to him.
Slowly, she leaned forward to kiss him.
Stunned, Fenrir knew not what to do at first. He honestly didn’t know what he had been expecting when she stood up from her seat. And yet here she was now, inches from his face and nearing at a steady pace. He was thrown further by the surge of her emotions. By the different ways they felt in comparison to his own, simply because they were not his own.
And they were not what he would have expected.
He had no idea she fancied him so. And he doubted that he would have ever known without the help of her empath powers. Fenrir, it seemed, had not improved at all in understanding humans.
Not knowing what else to do in this situation, he allowed their lips to meet, reaching out and gently taking a hold of her wrist, then almost hesitantly placing a hand on the side of her face, his fingers brushing against her soft hair. Gods, he was so out of practice with this kind of thing. Not that he had ever really been in practice.
The hesitant touch of Fenrir’s hands was almost like pain. She didn’t try to deepen the kiss, or push it any farther, or anything at all. Summer drew back enough to look at those dark eyes, letting her breath out slowly. Her free hand covered his.
She’d shut up the fears and dared herself to touch him, and he’d allowed it. He seemed to be welcoming it, but it was right here, in this kind of situation, that she always began to doubt herself. Everything about herself. She didn’t dare rely on her empathy, didn’t dare let that guide her for fear she’d trick herself, push too hard.
“Fenrir?” Summer asked, low.