[ Ian’s gone a little quiet, and Mace doesn’t think much of it at first. Takes it as just post-coital contentment — that maybe this is how Ian’s like afterward, loose-limbed and pliable and calm, and exhausted to boot, considering what they’ve been through. It’s certainly the way Mace is feeling on the inside, with the exception of the sudden vitality in his body that has less to do with sex, and more to do with Ian himself.
But then there’s a shampoo bottle being placed in his hand, and it comes with a question that flicks a light switch in Mace’s mind, lets him know whereabouts Ian’s thoughts are at the moment, and his smile turns a little regretful.
It's a good question. If they hadn't just slept together, Mace would've broached the topic himself, would've been ready for both of them to put their heads together and see if they couldn't find a weak link in the chain being wrapped around their throats.
But all the possible answers to that question are going to be laced with a sense of despair. And this moment, here and now? This peace that they've managed to snatch, this sweet calm that's settled over Ian for the first time since their nightmare began — Mace doesn't want to let it go.
He keeps that regret out of his voice as he pours out a palmful of shampoo and then begins to lather it, the scent of sandalwood filling the warm air around them. ]
Got a hypothesis. But I feel like … [ The pads of his fingers move along Ian’s scalp in firm, careful, circular rubs, and it’s not the utilitarian way one would expect a guy like Mace to wash hair. No brisk movements with the sole intention of cleaning as efficiently as possible. No quick rinse afterward. He’s not just washing, he’s massaging, unspoken affection in every touch. ]
It’s not in my best interests to tell you what’s on my mind. Because … [ Still keeping his tone low and conversational, sliding his thumbs to the base of Ian’s ears and gently rubbing the area there in firm, upward sweeps. ]
If I do that ... then that’s gonna be the only thing you think about tonight. And I don’t want that. I want you to ...
[ He knows this is ultimately futile. Telling Ian that he has an idea but that he’s not telling him is probably going to prompt him to want to know what the hell Mace is being so mysterious about; in a way, then, this is Mace just delaying the inevitable. And finally, some of what he’s feeling enters his voice as he murmurs into Ian’s ear, ]
no subject
But then there’s a shampoo bottle being placed in his hand, and it comes with a question that flicks a light switch in Mace’s mind, lets him know whereabouts Ian’s thoughts are at the moment, and his smile turns a little regretful.
It's a good question. If they hadn't just slept together, Mace would've broached the topic himself, would've been ready for both of them to put their heads together and see if they couldn't find a weak link in the chain being wrapped around their throats.
But all the possible answers to that question are going to be laced with a sense of despair. And this moment, here and now? This peace that they've managed to snatch, this sweet calm that's settled over Ian for the first time since their nightmare began — Mace doesn't want to let it go.
He keeps that regret out of his voice as he pours out a palmful of shampoo and then begins to lather it, the scent of sandalwood filling the warm air around them. ]
Got a hypothesis. But I feel like … [ The pads of his fingers move along Ian’s scalp in firm, careful, circular rubs, and it’s not the utilitarian way one would expect a guy like Mace to wash hair. No brisk movements with the sole intention of cleaning as efficiently as possible. No quick rinse afterward. He’s not just washing, he’s massaging, unspoken affection in every touch. ]
It’s not in my best interests to tell you what’s on my mind. Because … [ Still keeping his tone low and conversational, sliding his thumbs to the base of Ian’s ears and gently rubbing the area there in firm, upward sweeps. ]
If I do that ... then that’s gonna be the only thing you think about tonight. And I don’t want that. I want you to ...
[ He knows this is ultimately futile. Telling Ian that he has an idea but that he’s not telling him is probably going to prompt him to want to know what the hell Mace is being so mysterious about; in a way, then, this is Mace just delaying the inevitable. And finally, some of what he’s feeling enters his voice as he murmurs into Ian’s ear, ]
Close your eyes.
[ So he can rinse. ]