His hair is thick, full. The black strands are like unrefined silk. Still soft, but not so slickly smooth. He feels alive, and Mika knows that he's doing this for her.
His sharp ears catch her whisper, his arms tightening very briefly around her, whether in reaction or out of purpose. His hand lifted, threading it's way into her hair gently. He moved his lips slightly, brushing over her neck for only seconds, leaving Mika wondering if it was purposeful.
"Be careful what you tell me, sweet angel. My control is admirable, but you'd best not let hope bloom where it shouldn't. You speak of something that dreams are made of for your lowly knight. But you were never made to be fair and fickle Guinevere." His voice is low, soft, sweet, and holds a note of gentle warning. But longing comes through clearly, as well.
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