[ Generally speaking, Mace has all the subtlety of a hammer, and the only signals he’s tuned in to receiving are those of the radio sort — large, broad bands, nothing subtle about them. And with radio waves, the lower the frequency goes, the wider the wavelength becomes, spanning thousands of miles. So while he's never been particularly good at nuance, the signals he’s receiving from Ian are pitched low in just the right way, the right amount, an undercurrent that cuts through all the interference around them.
In space, all waves move at the speed of light.
The surprise that plays across Ian's face, the uncertainty in its wake, all of it narrows down to the single, open question in his eyes, and Ian doesn’t need to voice it for Mace to hear it.
But voice it he does, and Mace doesn’t miss the way it’s cloaked in humour still, Ian patching in an exit door just in case, just in case. Rooted in what, Mace still isn’t entirely sure; the doubt doesn’t seem to be because of him, but it makes him want to reassure Ian all the same — same as it makes him want to tease Ian about it a little. A strange mixture of playful and tender that he didn’t think he’d ever get to feel again with anyone else.
The corner of his mouth dips, small and secret, an inside joke that he’s about to let Ian in on. ]
That bad at reading signs, huh? [ A murmur of a drawl, shifting so that he’s facing Ian instead of remaining pressed shoulder to shoulder. Doesn’t let go of his hand, though. ]
You sure you’re a teacher?
[ And Mace reaches out with his free hand, fingers framing the side of Ian's face, the heel of his palm brushing the hinge of Ian's jaw, before leaning in slow and sweet for a kiss. It’s chaste but insistent, gentle but thorough, almost like he’s trying to say something with it.
Maybe the same thing Ian tried to say to him with his fingers around Mace’s wrist just now.
The same thing he’d tried to say the night before, when he had Ian under the molten touch of a knife.
The only thing anybody wants to hear when they're stranded and lost and alone, no matter where they are. I’m here. ]
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In space, all waves move at the speed of light.
The surprise that plays across Ian's face, the uncertainty in its wake, all of it narrows down to the single, open question in his eyes, and Ian doesn’t need to voice it for Mace to hear it.
But voice it he does, and Mace doesn’t miss the way it’s cloaked in humour still, Ian patching in an exit door just in case, just in case. Rooted in what, Mace still isn’t entirely sure; the doubt doesn’t seem to be because of him, but it makes him want to reassure Ian all the same — same as it makes him want to tease Ian about it a little. A strange mixture of playful and tender that he didn’t think he’d ever get to feel again with anyone else.
The corner of his mouth dips, small and secret, an inside joke that he’s about to let Ian in on. ]
That bad at reading signs, huh? [ A murmur of a drawl, shifting so that he’s facing Ian instead of remaining pressed shoulder to shoulder. Doesn’t let go of his hand, though. ]
You sure you’re a teacher?
[ And Mace reaches out with his free hand, fingers framing the side of Ian's face, the heel of his palm brushing the hinge of Ian's jaw, before leaning in slow and sweet for a kiss. It’s chaste but insistent, gentle but thorough, almost like he’s trying to say something with it.
Maybe the same thing Ian tried to say to him with his fingers around Mace’s wrist just now.
The same thing he’d tried to say the night before, when he had Ian under the molten touch of a knife.
The only thing anybody wants to hear when they're stranded and lost and alone, no matter where they are. I’m here. ]