His hands, wrapped around my sides, traveled down, pulling at the hem of my shirt, his cool fingers creeping back up my chest, an odd sensation like when your arms fall asleep and they wake back up, a pins and needles sensation trailing behind where his fingers grazed along my chest, a sharp intake of breath as his hands tickle along my ribs. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, kneading his shoulders, running my hands along the tense muscles, planting soft kisses just above his ear, murmuring words of comfort, failing spectacularly to convey just how much he means to me.
#Blargh i am dead torrent#
Resting his forehead against mine, he pauses his torrent of motion, breathing heavily. I cant help but grin, flushing at his possessiveness. Returning his kiss, pressing up against him, it’s like trying to stop an avalanche, when he finally breaks for air, he buries his face in my neck, almost growling, “you’re mine” I hear as he nips at my neck, bites more than kisses punctuated with whispers of “mine” between each one as he makes his way back up my jawline. Suddenly he presses his lips to mine, silencing my half formed words with a kiss of surprising intensity, his hands pressing my shoulders further into the couch, shifting himself so that he’s straddling me. Reaching up, cradling his face in my hands, I am surprised to find tears staining his cheeks, stroking my thumbs along the cool planes of his face, trying to tell him it’s okay, and that he’s safe here. I hear the faintest of whispers, hardly more than a breath, more feeling the words than hearing them, but all the same, he whispers my name, over and over like a mantra, like a prayer. Slowly he leaned his face to mine, our foreheads touching, his eyes closed, our breathing syncing up. Pushed up on his arms, now looming over me, I couldn’t read his expression, the light playing treacherous tricks on perception.
He started to pull away, but bringing my hand back to his cheek, I wordlessly ask him if he is okay, his face lit oddly from the fuzzy static light of the tv, worry etched in every line. A sudden stiffness came over him then, not like the anger and pain of a few moments ago, but more like that of a startled bird, and I realized he had woken up. Cupping his cheek in my hand, I planted a soft row of kisses down his face, with each one some of the tension seemed to flow out of him, resting my cheek against his, whispering a litany of reassurances, the tension seemed to finally leave his arms and shoulders.
#Blargh i am dead skin#
Leaning down, I placed a soft kiss on his forehead, his normally cool skin flush for him, though still nowhere near as warm, he seemed to calm slightly, though his grip didn’t loosen. He was having a nightmare, I pulled him close, stroking his hair, attempting to make soothing noises, I had never been good at comforting people, but I didn’t know what else to do. I guess at some point we had drifted off to sleep, the tape finishing, and going to the soft buzz and hiss of static on the old tv, casting odd shadows on the pair of us on the couch, I had slipped down under the covers and Tron had wormed his way into the circle of my arms, his face buried in my chest, I realized what woke me when I saw his troubled face, his arms tightening around my chest, whimpering.
BLARGH I AM NOT GOOD AT DIALOGUE, WRITING TOUCHING NOW
0 kommentar(er)
