[ Ian's eyes clench shut as he leans in close, and that's why he misses the way Mace is gazing at him when they end up nuzzling, unintentional and clumsy and all the sweeter for it — something in Mace's eyes that nobody could mistake. A look that anybody who knew him in 2057 would be absolutely confounded to see.
A yearning that went beyond simple desire. An attachment that went beyond the flesh.
Don't thank me for that.
Mace's brows furrow and his lips part, because he can tell, despite Ian's attempt at an easy tone, how shaken he is — what he must've gone through. But Ian doesn't give Mace a chance to argue the point, and the arm around Mace's torso eases off, although not all the way just yet. He's glad of that; glad that he'll have some time to acclimatize himself to the detachment, to wrest his thoughts back into some semblance of control.
Christ, he's wasted — enough time, enough energy, not his own but Ian's. That last morning back at the cabin seems an entire lifetime ago, and he can't even fucking remember if he'd managed to feed Ian anything beyond coffee, before they'd gone tearing out of the window. ]
I'll do it.
[ Meaning, I'll pull the lever. This time, he pitches his voice low enough so that the rasp isn't as noticeable. Braces himself to get to his feet, to reluctantly put unwanted distance between them so they can get moving, but before he goes. Mace leans up to plant a hard, lingering kiss right where Ian gets a dimple when he smiles.
Then it's a matter of holding the blanket tight around himself and easing up, first onto his knees, balancing himself with his hands, then finally upright on his feet. He sways and then grits his teeth, his first step forward painful with how hard he hits his heel against the stone. Fuck. Get a hold of yourself, Mace.
Getting his clothing back on is another minor exercise in both humility and balance, but it gets easier as he goes, and when he's done he blows out a shaky breath, leaning down to pick up the lever-rope and looking over at Ian. ]
Got another idea, if you like it better. Could dig under the grate. Try and lift it up.
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A yearning that went beyond simple desire. An attachment that went beyond the flesh.
Don't thank me for that.
Mace's brows furrow and his lips part, because he can tell, despite Ian's attempt at an easy tone, how shaken he is — what he must've gone through. But Ian doesn't give Mace a chance to argue the point, and the arm around Mace's torso eases off, although not all the way just yet. He's glad of that; glad that he'll have some time to acclimatize himself to the detachment, to wrest his thoughts back into some semblance of control.
Christ, he's wasted — enough time, enough energy, not his own but Ian's. That last morning back at the cabin seems an entire lifetime ago, and he can't even fucking remember if he'd managed to feed Ian anything beyond coffee, before they'd gone tearing out of the window. ]
I'll do it.
[ Meaning, I'll pull the lever. This time, he pitches his voice low enough so that the rasp isn't as noticeable. Braces himself to get to his feet, to reluctantly put unwanted distance between them so they can get moving, but before he goes. Mace leans up to plant a hard, lingering kiss right where Ian gets a dimple when he smiles.
Then it's a matter of holding the blanket tight around himself and easing up, first onto his knees, balancing himself with his hands, then finally upright on his feet. He sways and then grits his teeth, his first step forward painful with how hard he hits his heel against the stone. Fuck. Get a hold of yourself, Mace.
Getting his clothing back on is another minor exercise in both humility and balance, but it gets easier as he goes, and when he's done he blows out a shaky breath, leaning down to pick up the lever-rope and looking over at Ian. ]
Got another idea, if you like it better. Could dig under the grate. Try and lift it up.