[ He almost says, let people make puns around you, because Mace is many things and self-aware is one of them. He knows how odd his sense of humour is, and nine times out of ten, it’s only for his own benefit. Ian’s taking up that last slot, though; even what he’d said earlier had been to get a smile out of him, something to gainsay the approaching panic he could sense welling up.
That, and maybe a measure of — possessiveness, for lack of the right word. Mace isn’t generally an old-fashioned guy, but the thought of some son of a bitch trespassing over such a vulnerable area of his partner’s body evokes a certain knee-jerk reaction of fuck no out of him, straight from the heart. And … for the duration of their stay, and as long as Ian gives him the green light for it, that dick is nobody else’s business but Mace’s.
But the way Ian’s speaking right now, it stops him from making any jokes, droll or otherwise. There’s a note of guilt in Ian’s voice that he doesn’t understand, and it makes him want to tread softly here. Near this part of Ian that he’s choosing to expose, whether out of some swell of emotion, or just bone-deep exhaustion.
Whatever the reason behind it, it’s a show of trust that’s perhaps more private than what they’d shared here earlier, or in the shower just now. ]
Nothing wrong with that.
[ Mace’s eyes have adjusted a little bit even to the current gloom, and in front of him he can just about see the gentle slope of a neck, hair falling across a nape. He thinks of pressing his lips there — just trails the tips of his fingers there instead, a faint touch meant to be both acknowledging and reassuring, before sliding them back into Ian’s hair.
I don’t date. Was it because he didn’t want to? ]
You know, I remember reading in college … the Band of Thebes.
[ Ian probably already knows, he’s a professor. Mace presses on anyway, his voice a low, steady thrum in the darkness. ] It was a military squadron. Comprised entirely of lovers. The idea was … well, you give a man somebody to fight for. Put that somebody right next to him on the battlefield, and … he’d find himself equal to whatever it was that came their way.
[ In the end, that’d been death for the Thebians. All three hundred of them, slaughtered. But that’s not what Mace is getting at, not why he’s saying this and probably sounding like a fool for it, too. ]
Thank you for letting me.
[ Letting him do whatever is that you don’t normally let people do. He doesn’t need to know what the specificity of that is; thinks he gets it, anyway. And with that, he brushes his lips right to the base of Ian's neck. ]
no subject
That, and maybe a measure of — possessiveness, for lack of the right word. Mace isn’t generally an old-fashioned guy, but the thought of some son of a bitch trespassing over such a vulnerable area of his partner’s body evokes a certain knee-jerk reaction of fuck no out of him, straight from the heart. And … for the duration of their stay, and as long as Ian gives him the green light for it, that dick is nobody else’s business but Mace’s.
But the way Ian’s speaking right now, it stops him from making any jokes, droll or otherwise. There’s a note of guilt in Ian’s voice that he doesn’t understand, and it makes him want to tread softly here. Near this part of Ian that he’s choosing to expose, whether out of some swell of emotion, or just bone-deep exhaustion.
Whatever the reason behind it, it’s a show of trust that’s perhaps more private than what they’d shared here earlier, or in the shower just now. ]
Nothing wrong with that.
[ Mace’s eyes have adjusted a little bit even to the current gloom, and in front of him he can just about see the gentle slope of a neck, hair falling across a nape. He thinks of pressing his lips there — just trails the tips of his fingers there instead, a faint touch meant to be both acknowledging and reassuring, before sliding them back into Ian’s hair.
I don’t date. Was it because he didn’t want to? ]
You know, I remember reading in college … the Band of Thebes.
[ Ian probably already knows, he’s a professor. Mace presses on anyway, his voice a low, steady thrum in the darkness. ] It was a military squadron. Comprised entirely of lovers. The idea was … well, you give a man somebody to fight for. Put that somebody right next to him on the battlefield, and … he’d find himself equal to whatever it was that came their way.
[ In the end, that’d been death for the Thebians. All three hundred of them, slaughtered. But that’s not what Mace is getting at, not why he’s saying this and probably sounding like a fool for it, too. ]
Thank you for letting me.
[ Letting him do whatever is that you don’t normally let people do. He doesn’t need to know what the specificity of that is; thinks he gets it, anyway. And with that, he brushes his lips right to the base of Ian's neck. ]