Voss was perfect. Not in a schoolgirl fantasy kind of way; he didn't seem perfect despite manifold imperfections. He was, objectively – mathematically, even – perfect. He was slender, svelte but not skinny; tall, taller than average but not a giant; his features were exactly symmetrical and the mask he wore to protect his sublime, even-toned skin, he had beautifully crafted himself. His voice was melodic, his words lyrical and intelligent. He was self-aware and he didn't suffer from false modesty.
... and in a moment, when his palms had stopped sweating and his mouth was less dry, Craven Lorne was going to tell him all of this. That day, Craven had decided, would be the day.
“It's a beautiful day,” Craven began tentatively. “Don't you agree?” It was a way to test the waters, as it were. One of the side effects of a highly sensitive and intelligent mind like Voss's was that his moods weren't always predictable to the layman – and Craven Lorne wanted to make sure he was in a perfect state of mind to receive his attentions.
Voss never spoke without thinking, and he surveyed the area slowly, examining the hot, sunny field from the safety of their spot beneath the tree. “Yes, beautiful,” he said. He chuckled sweetly. “I'm glad you suggested this, Craven.”
Craven Lorne swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “I'm glad you agreed to join me.”
Voss chuckled again. “Why wouldn't I? What could be better than spending the day here?”
Nothing, Craven thought. He meant to think it. He had the sudden and horrible realization that he'd said it out loud at the precise moment that Voss asked him to repeat himself.
Now. It had to be now. Craven knew that if he didn't take the chance, didn't say right then what had been on his mind for so long, the opportunity would pass him by. “Voss,” he said, finding his voice, “I've something I need to tell you.”
Voss sat up a little straighter. “So tell me,” he said. He looked interested, ready to listen and accept. Focused. He smiled. “Hold that thought.”
Craven Lorne was holding it – and he could almost see it slipping through his fingers as he followed Voss's gaze to the rabbit girl absentmindedly flouncing through the field.
“Beautiful, isn't she?” Voss said, leaning a little further forward. “Spectacular.” He leaned back against the tree and sighed contentedly.
Spectacular was pushing it a bit far. She was certainly a feat of engineering, but that was about it – though Craven did have to admit, if only to himself, that beautiful was a fairly accurate description. She was pleasantly shaped, which from that far across the field, had to be the first thing he noticed. She was wearing a flowing white dress which was, considerately, slightly too large to stay up properly on its own. In one alabaster hand, she twirled a small purple flower by its stem.
But, beautiful or not, she was intruding on something pure, something precious that he had been trying to achieve for a long, long time. He wished she would go back to wherever she'd come from and stay there.
She came to a slow stop and turned her head, almost as if she'd could hear them – but there was no way that she could, not from so far away. She smiled shyly, looked at her feet and back at them, then looked back to her feet and continued on her walk.
“Don't you think so?” Voss asked, snapping Craven Lorne back to the conversation.
“She's certainly passable,” Craven said impatiently. “If that's the type of thing you enjoy.”
“Not yet, but it will be,” Voss said, with a sharp laugh.
Craven tried to laugh with him, but nothing came out.
“I think I'll be enjoying it very soon, in fact. You mark my words, Craven Lorne, I will have that rabbit girl.”
Craven had no doubt that Voss was right. He couldn't imagine that, given the chance, the rabbit girl would hesitate for even a second before jumping into Voss's bed; he couldn't dream of anyone who would.
Craven Lorne watched the rabbit girl as she skipped through the field and disappeared behind a large green hedge, oblivious to the world around her and the pain that she caused.