[ Looks like they’re not hopping the fence toward that dead end just yet. Ian’s shoulders slump forward, his body loosening further with each rhythmic circle of Mace’s fingertips against his scalp, and when the hand goes out to brace itself against wet tile, Mace gives a small inward sigh of relief. Good. ]
Trying to get you to stop thinking so much, mainly.
[ Another murmur as he starts to rinse the suds out of Ian’s hair, grime and sweat and blood swirling down the drain until the water runs clear at their feet.
Let Ian settle into this feeling. Let him block out, just for a little, the fucking hellscape that they’re trapped in. They don’t have the guarantee of tomorrow, and they don’t even have the guarantee of the rest of the night while they’re asleep. They just have this piece of time given to them for whatever reason — because Mace’s hunch is that it’s for something horrible on its way — and there’s no sense in it, for him, to not make the most of it.
You live in the moment, because the moment is all you have.
And it really is both of them making the most of it, because it’s not like Mace isn’t getting anything out of this. In fact, if asked, he’d probably say in all sincerity that they’re already at an equal exchange rate with this.
He likes this. He likes the way Ian’s muscles go soft in response to his touches, likes hearing the way his words slur together, likes knowing he's making him feel good instead of being the cause of yet more bruises on his body.
Frankly, Mace just thoroughly enjoys taking care of somebody he made love to. Knows the biological reasons behind it — because nature has very little use for things like feelings — but the why of it, that’s not his business. ]
no subject
Trying to get you to stop thinking so much, mainly.
[ Another murmur as he starts to rinse the suds out of Ian’s hair, grime and sweat and blood swirling down the drain until the water runs clear at their feet.
Let Ian settle into this feeling. Let him block out, just for a little, the fucking hellscape that they’re trapped in. They don’t have the guarantee of tomorrow, and they don’t even have the guarantee of the rest of the night while they’re asleep. They just have this piece of time given to them for whatever reason — because Mace’s hunch is that it’s for something horrible on its way — and there’s no sense in it, for him, to not make the most of it.
You live in the moment, because the moment is all you have.
And it really is both of them making the most of it, because it’s not like Mace isn’t getting anything out of this. In fact, if asked, he’d probably say in all sincerity that they’re already at an equal exchange rate with this.
He likes this. He likes the way Ian’s muscles go soft in response to his touches, likes hearing the way his words slur together, likes knowing he's making him feel good instead of being the cause of yet more bruises on his body.
Frankly, Mace just thoroughly enjoys taking care of somebody he made love to. Knows the biological reasons behind it — because nature has very little use for things like feelings — but the why of it, that’s not his business. ]
Pass the soap, Mr. Lube.