Snippet #2404561

Nachytsm had intended to tell Ana to stop. He didn't think, even in its state of disrepair, she would be able to remove it.

He was wrong. He didn't understand it. After removing his shredded cloak, each piece of armor came off just as easily, like she had worn it herself. Nachytsm began to tremble, silently looking at her in surprise. He finally recognized those fleeting, familiar glances. His long dead wife had acted like this, long ago when they first began to grow on eachother.

But she had known what Nachytsm was. Ana did not. He couldn't let her be longing for him like that.

Nachytsm had been thinking about this when Ana finally removed the last of his armor. Some of it, he knew, would need to be repaired before it could be fitted back to him.

The clothes underneath looked ancient. They were tattered, torn, forever dyed in blood. More than a little of it was probably Nachytsm's. The clothes did little for him, when it boiled down to it. Their sole purpose was to keep his armor from chaffing him. Every muscle, every curve of his body, could be seen through them. He almost may as well have been naked.

He did not smell particularly good, either. It was likely he had not removed that armor in weeks, and bathed in an even longer time. It was a scent of blood mingled with his own natural, male musk.

The man shuffled nervously for a moment as Ana looked at his body. Tears welled up in her eyes as she accused him of being harmed.

She cried. Nachytsm had few weaknesses, but a woman's tears were something he could not deal with.

Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her, burying her face in his chest.
"No," he said. He was still trembling almost imperceptibly, but he could not let her cry for him.
"Not for me," he rumbled out. "Not worth it..."