[ The glow is fading away - not like the roar of the crowd, which did not fade so much as abruptly cease the second the rope was severed. In its place is stillness, the sound of slow running clear water, and--
The ragged gasp of breath Mace sucks down which relieves him so intensely, he nearly lets go by accident. He turns and Ian's arm is hanging so tight it's almost hard to let him; when he can convince it to unlock, it goes around his shoulders instead to reel him in again - chest to chest this time.
Oh, fuck, he knows what you're trying to say, Jesus Christ- ]
Shut up—
[ It's breathed out raggedly, and he can't even summon up a laugh. It's heatless, mindless, and it's a precursor to him pressing his forehead against Mace's so hard it nearly hurts. Wet hair sends droplets down Mace's cheek, and both arms wrap around his shoulders so tight the fingertips might actually leave bruises.
The body heat he gives back might be a small consolation for the way Ian's stalling them here, one foot still grounded in the portcullis to keep them both bobbing above the surface. He just can't stop hanging on, because now that the crisis is averted the reality is settling in. The close call, what almost happened, how it could've gone. ]
Oh, god-
[ Practically coughed out, with a hand shooting up to the back of Mace's head to tangle in his soaked hair.
They need to get out of the water, they need to get Mace warm again, just-- fuck, his expression, the color of his face. How easily Ian can transpose that over Mary, bulging eyes and a crushed windpipe, if he'd have yanked that rope he'd have snapped Mace's neck and not even known until he hauled a lifeless corpse onto the river bank like a fucking rag doll.
The good news is at least they both know he definitively leaves his panic attack spirals for after the pressure's off. ]
no subject
The ragged gasp of breath Mace sucks down which relieves him so intensely, he nearly lets go by accident. He turns and Ian's arm is hanging so tight it's almost hard to let him; when he can convince it to unlock, it goes around his shoulders instead to reel him in again - chest to chest this time.
Oh, fuck, he knows what you're trying to say, Jesus Christ- ]
Shut up—
[ It's breathed out raggedly, and he can't even summon up a laugh. It's heatless, mindless, and it's a precursor to him pressing his forehead against Mace's so hard it nearly hurts. Wet hair sends droplets down Mace's cheek, and both arms wrap around his shoulders so tight the fingertips might actually leave bruises.
The body heat he gives back might be a small consolation for the way Ian's stalling them here, one foot still grounded in the portcullis to keep them both bobbing above the surface. He just can't stop hanging on, because now that the crisis is averted the reality is settling in. The close call, what almost happened, how it could've gone. ]
Oh, god-
[ Practically coughed out, with a hand shooting up to the back of Mace's head to tangle in his soaked hair.
They need to get out of the water, they need to get Mace warm again, just-- fuck, his expression, the color of his face. How easily Ian can transpose that over Mary, bulging eyes and a crushed windpipe, if he'd have yanked that rope he'd have snapped Mace's neck and not even known until he hauled a lifeless corpse onto the river bank like a fucking rag doll.
The good news is at least they both know he definitively leaves his panic attack spirals for after the pressure's off. ]