[ See, Mace hadn’t been thinking of Ian’s desk right at the tail end of his sentence, exactly. But like his hands, he keeps that to himself for now with one short, amused huff through his nose.
He’s testing the struts one last time when Ian speaks up, and Mace turns back to see the soft blue flare up again. Can't fucking imagine sleeping in the dark right now. I'm gonna think—
A candle’s something Mace had been thinking of suggesting, back at the entrance — but at the time they’d just come off of the terrifying fucking visit in the cave itself, and a candle wouldn’t have been enough. The lit bottle-torch had cast a broader glow around them, enough to see anything approach.
Over here, there’s nothing that can approach them without first breaking through the barrier they’ve set up, but. Didn’t mean your brain accepted that, did it? Didn’t mean you’d stop seeing shadows where there weren’t any, or dread their eventual arrival. Not after the shit they’ve seen, gone through, and there’s an understanding look in Mace’s eyes as he wanders back to Ian’s side. ]
Come here.
[ Quiet, after Ian finishes making the candle, taking it from his grasp before placing it near the area that’ll be their headrest, so to speak. It isn’t too difficult to lift and maneuver Ian into his arms after that; Ian is tall and broad, but he’s also feeling the strain of the proverbial burden on their shoulders, and Mace is used to conditions similar to this, sans demonic murder victims with a grudge. He’d meant it before, when he’d said he was good to keep going without sleep a little longer.
They settle into place on their makeshift bed much the same way they’d been resting before, with Ian sprawled on top of him. Except this time Mace isn’t half-sitting up — he’s laying flat on his back, a small sigh escaping him at finally going supine. The kinks in his spine start to straighten out and he doesn’t mind how hard the ground is underneath; it’s softened by the blanket, which also gives him added protection from the chill of the cavern floor.
Not that he’s feeling any chill with Ian’s warmth holding him down so sweetly, his head nestled against Mace’s chest and the weight of him as good as a quilt. He reaches for the flannel and shakes it open, covers Ian’s upper body with it and then tucks in the sides for good measure.
Soft and slow, one arm folded protectively over Ian's torso, the other hand sliding into the back of his hair, fingers rubbing at his scalp: ]
Whenever my sisters had a nightmare, they didn't like going to our folks. They'd come wake me instead, and they were tough customers, even when they were scared. If I said, I won't let anything get you, they'd ask me, but what if it's huge and it bites your head off, so I had to give them, you know. Something concrete. So I used to tell 'em ...
[ A quiet, clicking sound as he swallows. ] Any monster's gonna have to go through me first.
no subject
He’s testing the struts one last time when Ian speaks up, and Mace turns back to see the soft blue flare up again. Can't fucking imagine sleeping in the dark right now. I'm gonna think—
A candle’s something Mace had been thinking of suggesting, back at the entrance — but at the time they’d just come off of the terrifying fucking visit in the cave itself, and a candle wouldn’t have been enough. The lit bottle-torch had cast a broader glow around them, enough to see anything approach.
Over here, there’s nothing that can approach them without first breaking through the barrier they’ve set up, but. Didn’t mean your brain accepted that, did it? Didn’t mean you’d stop seeing shadows where there weren’t any, or dread their eventual arrival. Not after the shit they’ve seen, gone through, and there’s an understanding look in Mace’s eyes as he wanders back to Ian’s side. ]
Come here.
[ Quiet, after Ian finishes making the candle, taking it from his grasp before placing it near the area that’ll be their headrest, so to speak. It isn’t too difficult to lift and maneuver Ian into his arms after that; Ian is tall and broad, but he’s also feeling the strain of the proverbial burden on their shoulders, and Mace is used to conditions similar to this, sans demonic murder victims with a grudge. He’d meant it before, when he’d said he was good to keep going without sleep a little longer.
They settle into place on their makeshift bed much the same way they’d been resting before, with Ian sprawled on top of him. Except this time Mace isn’t half-sitting up — he’s laying flat on his back, a small sigh escaping him at finally going supine. The kinks in his spine start to straighten out and he doesn’t mind how hard the ground is underneath; it’s softened by the blanket, which also gives him added protection from the chill of the cavern floor.
Not that he’s feeling any chill with Ian’s warmth holding him down so sweetly, his head nestled against Mace’s chest and the weight of him as good as a quilt. He reaches for the flannel and shakes it open, covers Ian’s upper body with it and then tucks in the sides for good measure.
Soft and slow, one arm folded protectively over Ian's torso, the other hand sliding into the back of his hair, fingers rubbing at his scalp: ]
Whenever my sisters had a nightmare, they didn't like going to our folks. They'd come wake me instead, and they were tough customers, even when they were scared. If I said, I won't let anything get you, they'd ask me, but what if it's huge and it bites your head off, so I had to give them, you know. Something concrete. So I used to tell 'em ...
[ A quiet, clicking sound as he swallows. ] Any monster's gonna have to go through me first.