[ It's not that Ian doesn't do this - kissing, sex, physical intimacy. He does, he has, and with decent regularity. It's easy to when you're charming, sociable. When you attend university functions or you meet people in bars and you hit it off, it becomes a wanna go back to my place? Sometimes it's even after a second or a third meeting, they've developed some rapport, a couple of inside jokes. A few repeat customers, but never more than three times.
And never anyone he feels for, not anymore, not since his twenties. Not since grad school. It's a limit he enforces both consciously and subconsciously.
All the same, something in his stomach dips down low and fast like driving too fast over the right kind of hill. His heart rate picks up, hammering out hard beats - before that palm even coasts along his jaw.
Doesn't really matter what his mind has to say on the topic when his mind goes blank the second Mace starts leaning in. Slow motion, stable trajectory, enough time for Ian's eyes to flutter almost all the way closed. Enough time for him to meet the right angle, to lean in magnetically those last two inches.
They touch down, and a different kind of heat spreads out across his chest. Ink in water. The hand in Mace's flexes, then tightens - no hidden message in that one, it's not intentional, it just is.
He leans in more, kisses back slow, feels static on his skin. Nudges in with the tip of his nose, and works to softly part Mace's lips by coaxing them with his own, something warmer, something open-mouthed. ]
no subject
And never anyone he feels for, not anymore, not since his twenties. Not since grad school. It's a limit he enforces both consciously and subconsciously.
All the same, something in his stomach dips down low and fast like driving too fast over the right kind of hill. His heart rate picks up, hammering out hard beats - before that palm even coasts along his jaw.
Doesn't really matter what his mind has to say on the topic when his mind goes blank the second Mace starts leaning in. Slow motion, stable trajectory, enough time for Ian's eyes to flutter almost all the way closed. Enough time for him to meet the right angle, to lean in magnetically those last two inches.
They touch down, and a different kind of heat spreads out across his chest. Ink in water. The hand in Mace's flexes, then tightens - no hidden message in that one, it's not intentional, it just is.
He leans in more, kisses back slow, feels static on his skin. Nudges in with the tip of his nose, and works to softly part Mace's lips by coaxing them with his own, something warmer, something open-mouthed. ]