[It is a long time. He can't even comprehend it, the way Jonas has described — wonders if he should ask or if it might only spiral him deeper into feelings he'd rather not revisit, better set aside and distracted from the anguish he's endured. Jonas is holding onto him tightly enough that it would take a lot to break the embrace, but he's not that interested in trying right now.]
Yeah? I mean, so what? It's just forever.
[A shift so he can slip his arms around Jonas's waist amid that desperate clinging, folding his hands together. He keeps his head pillowed against Jonas's shoulder, eyes closed in a moment of unthinking contentment. Maybe he'll consider the implications of his agreement later, but right now he doesn't care for much but the continued physicality of their hold.]
I thought I was dead when I woke up here, too. Really freaked me out. Not that I'm saying — it sounds like you had it worse. It's just been a lot easier since then, because of you. So... if I can pay that back, then I will.
( That's right. "It's just forever." Having experienced eternity, overwhelmed, tears dampen black hair. This time will be different. It simply has to be.
Because it's not only his life relying on it, but Cain's, too. )
Hey, no... no, baby, you can't, like, downplay that. I know how scary that is. ( Leaning back enough to butt his forehead against Cain's, gazing at him with watery eyes, he finally understands the true impact of this moment: this isn't just fun, it's a core need for them both.
It's escapism, but it's the most precious display of cathartic solidarity he's only ever felt with Cain and Noctis. They're all lonely, confused, and scared. They're all seeking love and finding it in the unlikeliest of places. This is survival, too; building a small, strong safety net of fingers to hold each other within. He and Cain are catching each other right now. From freefalling to being tightly anchored to something good.
Kissing into Cain's hair, his arms retract enough that his hands can stroke concentrated heat down muscular sides. One slips easily beneath the hem of a tight, black shirt, intent on feeling scar tissue on a hard abdomen he's seen but never commented on. )
We're both here now. We're safe now. That's, like... pretty amazing odds, right? ( Gently, with a trembling thumb, that only recently healed skin is petted, and needing a deeper connection to this moment, Jonas relaxes into his partner's lap, knees widening over strong thighs. ) Know how many times I didn't get to meet you, and now... on my, like, final run, you're with me?
You don't know how important it is to me that you're here. That you survived.
[God, the way Jonas is talking... the way he's talking like it matters, that he matters, even if his life has only ever been inconsequential to someone else's goal, to someone else's plan — maybe Jonas understands what it's like to feel small and useless. There's so much more he wants to ask about that experience and how Jonas even ended up in it at all, but there's another part of him desperate to retain this quiet moment of connection, too.
Their foreheads bump together; Jonas's hand ventures underneath his shirt, causing Cain's breath to catch, muscle flinching reflexively at the warm caress over scar tissue. It doesn't feel like much more than pressure, and he's not ticklish, but there's something intimate about it still. Like Jonas recognizes a wound that almost killed him and is soothing it, though it's already healed. The emotional pain beneath it certainly has not.]
... Yeah. [His chest feels tight. It's harder for him to articulate his feelings compared to Jonas, but his hands can communicate his affection, at least, as they roam over Jonas's back in comforting strokes.] You're not going anywhere. I promise I won't let that happen.
Are you okay?
[An exhalation as he leans back enough to find those pretty eyes, because Cain doesn't want this to turn around on his own problems. He's here for Jonas right now.]
( Looking down over Cain from his elevated seat on muscular thighs, Jonas admires him. The way Cain's hair falls out of his face when his face is turned up. The softness of Cain's expressions when he gazes at him. The strong shoulders Cain uses to keep him supported when his legs feel fucking boneless.
Is he okay? No. God no, of course he isn't.
Will he be okay? )
Yeah—you're here. ( Voice low when it grows softer in delivery, palms flatten to grip Cain's bare waist beneath his shirt. Fingernails dig lightly into sensitive skin, then slide down to the waistband of the tight pants he nonetheless spreads his touch under.
Sustained eye contact makes his skin burn, uneven breaths still spilling against Cain's skin, but the quality of them is different now. They're laboured not by grief but by arousal and by the coming together of warm bodies that need to remember they're alive. Exhilarating, healing, just from feeling Cain's chest and stomach move against him.
And he doesn't waste any time, squeezing past strong hips to separately touch the back and front of him. )
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Yeah? I mean, so what? It's just forever.
[A shift so he can slip his arms around Jonas's waist amid that desperate clinging, folding his hands together. He keeps his head pillowed against Jonas's shoulder, eyes closed in a moment of unthinking contentment. Maybe he'll consider the implications of his agreement later, but right now he doesn't care for much but the continued physicality of their hold.]
I thought I was dead when I woke up here, too. Really freaked me out. Not that I'm saying — it sounds like you had it worse. It's just been a lot easier since then, because of you. So... if I can pay that back, then I will.
no subject
Because it's not only his life relying on it, but Cain's, too. )
Hey, no... no, baby, you can't, like, downplay that. I know how scary that is. ( Leaning back enough to butt his forehead against Cain's, gazing at him with watery eyes, he finally understands the true impact of this moment: this isn't just fun, it's a core need for them both.
It's escapism, but it's the most precious display of cathartic solidarity he's only ever felt with Cain and Noctis. They're all lonely, confused, and scared. They're all seeking love and finding it in the unlikeliest of places. This is survival, too; building a small, strong safety net of fingers to hold each other within. He and Cain are catching each other right now. From freefalling to being tightly anchored to something good.
Kissing into Cain's hair, his arms retract enough that his hands can stroke concentrated heat down muscular sides. One slips easily beneath the hem of a tight, black shirt, intent on feeling scar tissue on a hard abdomen he's seen but never commented on. )
We're both here now. We're safe now. That's, like... pretty amazing odds, right? ( Gently, with a trembling thumb, that only recently healed skin is petted, and needing a deeper connection to this moment, Jonas relaxes into his partner's lap, knees widening over strong thighs. ) Know how many times I didn't get to meet you, and now... on my, like, final run, you're with me?
You don't know how important it is to me that you're here. That you survived.
no subject
Their foreheads bump together; Jonas's hand ventures underneath his shirt, causing Cain's breath to catch, muscle flinching reflexively at the warm caress over scar tissue. It doesn't feel like much more than pressure, and he's not ticklish, but there's something intimate about it still. Like Jonas recognizes a wound that almost killed him and is soothing it, though it's already healed. The emotional pain beneath it certainly has not.]
... Yeah. [His chest feels tight. It's harder for him to articulate his feelings compared to Jonas, but his hands can communicate his affection, at least, as they roam over Jonas's back in comforting strokes.] You're not going anywhere. I promise I won't let that happen.
Are you okay?
[An exhalation as he leans back enough to find those pretty eyes, because Cain doesn't want this to turn around on his own problems. He's here for Jonas right now.]
no subject
Is he okay? No. God no, of course he isn't.
Will he be okay? )
Yeah—you're here. ( Voice low when it grows softer in delivery, palms flatten to grip Cain's bare waist beneath his shirt. Fingernails dig lightly into sensitive skin, then slide down to the waistband of the tight pants he nonetheless spreads his touch under.
Sustained eye contact makes his skin burn, uneven breaths still spilling against Cain's skin, but the quality of them is different now. They're laboured not by grief but by arousal and by the coming together of warm bodies that need to remember they're alive. Exhilarating, healing, just from feeling Cain's chest and stomach move against him.
And he doesn't waste any time, squeezing past strong hips to separately touch the back and front of him. )
I'm ready. I'm... I want you.