[ His mouth is still pressed to Ian’s nape when fingers wind around his wrist, a careful touch that he immediately likes. More points of contact between them felt better. It reminds him of what Ian had done earlier — the gesture that had, in a way, been the first spark to their oil.
Instead of drawing away immediately, like he’d initially meant to, Mace stays where he is and mulls over what he’s hearing. Nose slightly buried in Ian’s hair, still damp from the shower, smelling woodsy and sweet.
Despite the topic, despite where they are, he’s starting to feel his own limbs go loose and heavy now, relaxed in a way that he knows means he won’t have much trouble sleeping when the time comes. The heat of Ian’s body, the comfort of the shower — the simple intimacy of post-coital pillow talk.
Although, it’s a pretty unique kind of pillow talk. But it doesn’t hurt. If anything, Mace appreciates the honesty of it and the fact that Ian’s clearly aware of this part of himself instead of hiding it away or pretending it doesn’t exist. He can also tell it’s meant as a sort of caveat, like what Mace had tried to do when he’d told Ian about Cassie, about the type of person he was.
I’d be gone already. ]
But you didn’t leave here, did you. You stayed. You … let me. So that doesn’t change why I’m thanking you.
[ Mace’s lips brush against his skin with every word, and at Ian’s chest, the hand that he’s holding by the wrist strokes his sternum from atop the robe, trying to tell him without saying so that it’s okay. Whatever he's saying, it's okay.
He's also getting the feeling that maybe they're not on the same page about what he meant by fighting for somebody, going by the growing sound of guilt in that tired voice. ]
If this were back home, though — just a hypothetical. Don't overthink it, don't worry what I'm gonna think about it. Would it have been because you didn’t want me?
[ He doesn’t want to pry but there’s a curiosity in him to know the answer to that, if only because it’s something he can’t really wrap his mind around. ]
no subject
Instead of drawing away immediately, like he’d initially meant to, Mace stays where he is and mulls over what he’s hearing. Nose slightly buried in Ian’s hair, still damp from the shower, smelling woodsy and sweet.
Despite the topic, despite where they are, he’s starting to feel his own limbs go loose and heavy now, relaxed in a way that he knows means he won’t have much trouble sleeping when the time comes. The heat of Ian’s body, the comfort of the shower — the simple intimacy of post-coital pillow talk.
Although, it’s a pretty unique kind of pillow talk. But it doesn’t hurt. If anything, Mace appreciates the honesty of it and the fact that Ian’s clearly aware of this part of himself instead of hiding it away or pretending it doesn’t exist. He can also tell it’s meant as a sort of caveat, like what Mace had tried to do when he’d told Ian about Cassie, about the type of person he was.
I’d be gone already. ]
But you didn’t leave here, did you. You stayed. You … let me. So that doesn’t change why I’m thanking you.
[ Mace’s lips brush against his skin with every word, and at Ian’s chest, the hand that he’s holding by the wrist strokes his sternum from atop the robe, trying to tell him without saying so that it’s okay. Whatever he's saying, it's okay.
He's also getting the feeling that maybe they're not on the same page about what he meant by fighting for somebody, going by the growing sound of guilt in that tired voice. ]
If this were back home, though — just a hypothetical. Don't overthink it, don't worry what I'm gonna think about it. Would it have been because you didn’t want me?
[ He doesn’t want to pry but there’s a curiosity in him to know the answer to that, if only because it’s something he can’t really wrap his mind around. ]