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Dante found themselves staring at Faust a little more than appropriate some days. They thought they were being subtle about it as well, head tilted vaguely, pillowed on their palm. They really should have known it was a fool’s errand to think anybody escaped Faust’s knowledge.
“Are you curious about Faust?” She suddenly piped up after the Sinners departed for their rooms for the night, polite but firm. It was hardly a question, Dante understood, she already knew .
“Ah-well-not exactly?” Wings above, this was gonna be awkward to explain in any capacity, wasn’t it? Faust nodded, stopped, stared past them. Patiently awaiting information to make further decisions off of. “It’s more of a general thing I’m curious about. About something I don’t have.”
“That is an understandable curiosity to have. Do you want Faust to fulfill that curiosity?” That ever-present, confident smile slightly raised her lips. Dante wrenched their gaze back to her eyes before they could stare anymore.
“W-what’s it like, having a mouth?” The words sounded even stupider expressed out loud, but Faust didn’t seem repelled, to Dante’s relief.
“Are you referring to the physicality of the orifice, or the actions, such as eating?” In fact, she seemed…almost present in the conversation? Still staring past Dante, but keeping the arrogance on the down low?
“...I guess how it feels, I suppose. My memories don’t exactly let me know anything about how it feels to…have teeth, o-or lips.” Their hands were ticking really fast now, why was it so embarrassing to talk about this?
Faust blinked, turned. Stared outside the bus’ windows.
“Faust can let you see.”
—
A statement that led to her sitting opposite to Dante at their desk, both leaned over the threshold so they were nearly face-to-clock. Dante had their hands raised just shy of touching Faust, shaking, unsure whether it was excitement or fear that twitched their nerves.
“Faust have given you explicit permission. Go on, Dante.” Perhaps she was impatient, a whole minute wasted waiting for Dante to make their move. She did not make her own move, however. She had moved as close to crossing the physical border as she could without leaping over it, and that was all she did. Now, she awaited Dante, the air charged with expectation.
Before Dante could think about it, they cupped Faust’s face in their hands. They were struck by two things at once. Firstly, even with gloves on, touching her was achingly intimate. The Sinners didn’t invite much unnecessary contact, even the friendly Rodya didn’t stray much from superficially affectionate arms slung over shoulders or head (clock?) ruffles. This? Touching another’s face? Completely out of the realm of Dante’s experiences.
Secondly, Faust was soft , plush cheeks squishing inwards even at the gentle contact. Dante pressed a little and felt the line of bone, quickly relaxed. Even if she consented to this exploration, harming Faust in any way would haunt them for the next month, Dante knew. Their thumb traced her lip, just now marveling at the pink emerging and forming the soft outline.
“Um, may I-?” Before they could finish their request, Faust obediently opened her mouth, having obviously guessed Dante’s intentions. Shaking off the increasing intimacy of their activity, Dante continued.
Teeth and tongue were similar, but in different ways. Both strayed from the softness of cheek flesh, yet teeth was of bone and tongue was of lineless flesh. Dante ran a finger over Faust’s teeth, the same off-color pale as the rest of her, fingertip tingling at the rise and fall of enamel and tooth-end. They almost drew back as they made contact with her tongue, the boneless organ warm and wet, seemingly just as living as Faust herself. Would they possess this, one day? Or were they destined to seek curiosity and never claim it for themselves?
They were staring again, weren’t they?
“I’m sorry, that must have been uncomfortable.” Dante apologized, still somehow feeling they had crossed a boundary as they removed their hands, watching as Faust adjusted her jaw.
“There is nothing to apologize for, Faust allowed you to answer your own curiosities with Faust’s consent.”
“...Why? It’s not like this was an important curiosity or question, just me thinking about things I shouldn’t.”
“Faust have said this before, Dante. There is no greater joy to man than to find answers yourself. Faust simply did not want to deny that pleasure.”
Dante wasn’t sure they would call this a “joy”, but they certainly felt something from this. A closeness they were almost afraid to express. That intimacy of contact they weren’t sure how to request again, maybe one day Faust would ask again, and they would answer.