He breathes in deeply, then exhales shakily through his nose. The turn of her head has put her face just below his own.
She smells of so many things, an emotional cocktail of hope and wondering and want, of the dinner she's just finished on her breath, of the human base of prey that he's used to ignoring, of the desire he's finding he can't.
It's bewildering. He's used to other people smelling like this, other couples (other?) in the bar, but it's never been directed at him. Maybe before he died, but he wouldn't have noticed it then.
He's noticing it now. How can he not with her face just below his own, nothing but their breath between them? He closes his eyes, trying to clear his head.
It doesn't work quite so well when your brain can build pictures off of scent.
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She smells of so many things, an emotional cocktail of hope and wondering and want, of the dinner she's just finished on her breath, of the human base of prey that he's used to ignoring, of the desire he's finding he can't.
It's bewildering. He's used to other people smelling like this, other couples (other?) in the bar, but it's never been directed at him. Maybe before he died, but he wouldn't have noticed it then.
He's noticing it now. How can he not with her face just below his own, nothing but their breath between them? He closes his eyes, trying to clear his head.
It doesn't work quite so well when your brain can build pictures off of scent.