[ Don’t think for a minute that Mace doesn’t pick up on Ian’s tone, the way he phrases himself. His hands are languid as they stroke and prod at the shirt for splinters, his body language more relaxed than it has been since the Sun went down, but that just means his mind is all the more alert. It’s a refreshing change from having to stay fixated on their surroundings; now, he can focus on Ian’s face all he wants.
At the expression there, and the vague vestiges of pride in his voice. It reminds him of earlier. That small, skeptical huff of breath when Mace had called him an expert. ]
No fuckin’ way. Berkeley?
[ Look, Mace is plenty impressed with that. Same as he had been that first afternoon when Ian introduced him to what he could do, and frankly, he’s not even playing it up. Adjunct or on the tenure-track, that shit’s Ivy League; he has an idea of what it takes to climb up to that level, and it’s not pretty. ]
Well, that explains a lot. I mean, I knew you were smart, but … [ Leaning forward, his elbows braced on his cross-legged knees, watching the blue glow gently pull molecules into existence out of the air, pooling thin and silver in Ian’s hand. Metal, growing from a palmful, to a small plate, to more. ]
You’re more than that. Something special.
[ Technically, he already knew that one too, but. Can’t hurt to let Ian know explicitly, his gaze sliding back to Ian’s face with something soft and warm in its depths.
Also something a little sad, at the way Ian says I liked it. Past tense, like he’s not gonna get to like it again. Like he’s not making it out of here, like he already knows that for a fact, and … it makes Mace want to make promises he doesn’t have the ability to guarantee.
He runs the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, feeling the phantom edge of Ian's teeth from that kiss just now, and then adds, ]
Gonna show me your office one day?
[ With a rueful little smile, because he knows that what he's implying might sound like a pipe-dream. Both of them getting out of here, both of them even making it back somewhere. ]
no subject
At the expression there, and the vague vestiges of pride in his voice. It reminds him of earlier. That small, skeptical huff of breath when Mace had called him an expert. ]
No fuckin’ way. Berkeley?
[ Look, Mace is plenty impressed with that. Same as he had been that first afternoon when Ian introduced him to what he could do, and frankly, he’s not even playing it up. Adjunct or on the tenure-track, that shit’s Ivy League; he has an idea of what it takes to climb up to that level, and it’s not pretty. ]
Well, that explains a lot. I mean, I knew you were smart, but … [ Leaning forward, his elbows braced on his cross-legged knees, watching the blue glow gently pull molecules into existence out of the air, pooling thin and silver in Ian’s hand. Metal, growing from a palmful, to a small plate, to more. ]
You’re more than that. Something special.
[ Technically, he already knew that one too, but. Can’t hurt to let Ian know explicitly, his gaze sliding back to Ian’s face with something soft and warm in its depths.
Also something a little sad, at the way Ian says I liked it. Past tense, like he’s not gonna get to like it again. Like he’s not making it out of here, like he already knows that for a fact, and … it makes Mace want to make promises he doesn’t have the ability to guarantee.
He runs the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, feeling the phantom edge of Ian's teeth from that kiss just now, and then adds, ]
Gonna show me your office one day?
[ With a rueful little smile, because he knows that what he's implying might sound like a pipe-dream. Both of them getting out of here, both of them even making it back somewhere. ]