That's true, and right now leaving is pretty much the last thing he wants to do. One thing at a time, and if he were any good at gambling he'd guess that Faye's thinking the same thing. But he's a lousy gambler, and while he's not afraid of taking changes, that doesn't mean he's stupid.
Faye's one of a very small handful of people who knows about him. She knows about what happened; she knows about Vicious; she knows about his body; she knows about his preferences... or at least his alleged preferences. This situation is almost laughable. In fact, were he to look down on it from above, knowing what he knows, he'd probably be rolling on the floor in side-splitting laughter.
He's not above laughing at himself when the situation warrants that, either. But Faye's hand is still in his and she shows no sign of wanting to move it. That's nice. On Callisto, there was something, but he had a lot of other things on his mind. He wonders if she understands now why he said women aren't his style.
But they used to be.
It's hard for him to imagine a woman wanting to sleep with him with his body looking like it does. Then again, who's he to make that kind of judgment call? It's the same in reverse: why would a man want to sleep with another man who wears a B-cup? These are questions he's asked himself countless times over the years and sometimes they make him almost tragically sad. Other times the questions and the potential answers he comes up with amuse him no end.
Laugh or cry? I'm both at once, and I'm neither one. He's said that before, yet neither half of that statement is strictly true. He's not a hermaphrodite; he doesn't have female reproductive organs. He's just a man who likes men and women equally who happens to have a body that's the end result of untested drugs. If that doesn't bother Faye, it surely doesn't bother him.
All this thinking makes him laugh. In fact, he laughs out loud.
He laughs so hard it makes him cry, and he's still laughing as he wipes a tear of mirth out of the corner of his eye.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-07-02 07:57 pm (UTC)Faye's one of a very small handful of people who knows about him. She knows about what happened; she knows about Vicious; she knows about his body; she knows about his preferences... or at least his alleged preferences. This situation is almost laughable. In fact, were he to look down on it from above, knowing what he knows, he'd probably be rolling on the floor in side-splitting laughter.
He's not above laughing at himself when the situation warrants that, either. But Faye's hand is still in his and she shows no sign of wanting to move it. That's nice. On Callisto, there was something, but he had a lot of other things on his mind. He wonders if she understands now why he said women aren't his style.
But they used to be.
It's hard for him to imagine a woman wanting to sleep with him with his body looking like it does. Then again, who's he to make that kind of judgment call? It's the same in reverse: why would a man want to sleep with another man who wears a B-cup? These are questions he's asked himself countless times over the years and sometimes they make him almost tragically sad. Other times the questions and the potential answers he comes up with amuse him no end.
Laugh or cry? I'm both at once, and I'm neither one. He's said that before, yet neither half of that statement is strictly true. He's not a hermaphrodite; he doesn't have female reproductive organs. He's just a man who likes men and women equally who happens to have a body that's the end result of untested drugs. If that doesn't bother Faye, it surely doesn't bother him.
All this thinking makes him laugh. In fact, he laughs out loud.
He laughs so hard it makes him cry, and he's still laughing as he wipes a tear of mirth out of the corner of his eye.
"Faye, Faye. What are we doing?"