more importantly, he doesn't ask; there's the faintest scent of sulfur cutting through the air like the bitter aftertaste of a stale cigarette, but june keeps his eyes closed against it until saiph's touch drags him back to himself, and—
this isn't kansas. this isn't the line 6. this is the immaculate marbled tile of saiph's bathroom, and the cooled air nips at the back of june's neck in warning: no sudden movements, little thing. june can't help it; a dawning realisation cuts through him, sharp and swift as it races down his back and to his fingertips. for a single, glorious second, june can't breathe.
he can't put to words the one question he wants to ask. his mind refuses to.
he's still reeling from the truth that's laid bare in front of him that he's gone pliant to saiph's ministrations. june's hands hover, stutter, pull back — he wants to touch him, he wants to feel the warmth of his skin and hope to be grounded by it, but june's caught in the throes of such a dark, consuming awe that he's worried of what he might do if he reached out and found purchase.
the water hits his bare skin and it's a shock. it's a slap to his senses, his ability spiking and turning inward. his blood is roaring in his ears; his breathing is caught painfully between his throat and his lungs. he sees everything and nothing and he wonders if this is what it's like to be blinded by light.
the kiss, when he realises it happening, feels like a benediction. june kisses back with all the finesse of a young lover, unraveling from saiph's simple touches, and fast.
in his reverence and desperation, june understands the one thing. what he's feeling isn't fear. it's something much worse. ]
for ( devilish )
[ he doesn't open his eyes.
more importantly, he doesn't ask; there's the faintest scent of sulfur cutting through the air like the bitter aftertaste of a stale cigarette, but june keeps his eyes closed against it until saiph's touch drags him back to himself, and—
this isn't kansas. this isn't the line 6. this is the immaculate marbled tile of saiph's bathroom, and the cooled air nips at the back of june's neck in warning: no sudden movements, little thing. june can't help it; a dawning realisation cuts through him, sharp and swift as it races down his back and to his fingertips. for a single, glorious second, june can't breathe.
he can't put to words the one question he wants to ask. his mind refuses to.
he's still reeling from the truth that's laid bare in front of him that he's gone pliant to saiph's ministrations. june's hands hover, stutter, pull back — he wants to touch him, he wants to feel the warmth of his skin and hope to be grounded by it, but june's caught in the throes of such a dark, consuming awe that he's worried of what he might do if he reached out and found purchase.
the water hits his bare skin and it's a shock. it's a slap to his senses, his ability spiking and turning inward. his blood is roaring in his ears; his breathing is caught painfully between his throat and his lungs. he sees everything and nothing and he wonders if this is what it's like to be blinded by light.
the kiss, when he realises it happening, feels like a benediction. june kisses back with all the finesse of a young lover, unraveling from saiph's simple touches, and fast.
in his reverence and desperation, june understands the one thing. what he's feeling isn't fear. it's something much worse. ]