[ There's a lot of movement. A lot of elated movement, and Alice casually swings a leg over the side of the hammock to plant a foot on the floor, bracing against the possibility of Treavor sending them both tumbling out onto the balcony. The rest of his body remains in that easy relaxed state, his arm extending to give the other man a place to nestle in-
And he fits.
He fits in the hammock. He fits against Alice's side, and in Alice's half embrace, and once Alice ensures their balance together on the hammock (he and his binary star, in their shared orbit, their tandem motion, their perfect soon-to-be-stillness), he draws his leg back up, knee cocked. Listening with a gentle smile and an almost awed look around the vicinity of his eyes.
(How Treavor touches him is a miracle. Not because he has never been touched so sweetly - though it's true, it's a rare occurrence - but because those touches have only ever been skin deep. They've never meant anything the way they do now.)
(What does it mean when a touch can reach miles beneath his skin? Treavor is older than he is by six or seven years. Did he live that long knowing he was alone in the world, waiting for his star to be born? Alice feels very sorry for taking so long to be born - but maybe that's why he came so quickly. Maybe that's why his mother was so young and his father was so young and he was born two months early.
Didn't mean to make you wait. But I got here as fast as I could.
He likes that.
He'll have to tell Treavor that sometime. Under starlight.
Yeah.)
Just now, Treavor is tossing his hair and Alice doesn't believe for one minute that he was never blonde, but he only nods seriously, very serious, except for the laugh creeping at his mouth and sparkling in his eyes. And of course he's listening intently to this lucky secret, because Treavor is (unfortunately) his secret, and Treavor is the luckiest thing to have ever happened to him, and he wants every word that falls from this beautiful man's mouth.
And his eyes widen just a little - a strong reaction for someone who at the moment is not particularly capable of much in the way of strong reactions.
He wants to point and say you nerd. But his hand is heavy, and resting against Treavor's back.
He wants to say fuck yes! But that's a response far outside his realm of peaceful enjoyment.
And. Treavor's pressing cuddling clinging and this might be the closest he's ever been to, the most physical contact he's ever had with him. Time feels like a slow-moving river, slower and slower and promising to turn crystalline. He extricates his arm from under his head and holds it, and his head, frozen in a pause for a beat, looking in wonder at the man (a man) (his) against him. ]
Christ, you're wonderful.
[ He believes it. Every word, whether he's high or sober, he's able to let slip with a grin.
Easily, he's closing all the gaps. Running a hand lazily over Treavor's waist, his hip, his thigh, tugging upward so their legs can twine and they can lie here together inextricable and perfect. And there are his arms, winding around his (what is Treavor to him? he never did ask.) rabbit, his cuddlebunny, yes.
This is what heaven might feel like.
((Or as close as he's ever going to know, anyway.))
He tells that thought to fuck off. Heaven is happiness, and feeling right, isn't it. He's happy here. This feels right, with Treavor nuzzling his throat and Alice stroking non-blonde hair.
This heaven is his.
After a moment or ten or two, he thinks he ought to answer, and does drawl some response - but not before carefully giving in to his own urge to not-quite-nuzzle. To nudge Treavor's jaw with his nose and brush his mouth along the long, clean lines of the other man's throat. (Not a kiss. Of course. Not yet. Not yet. (He doesn't know why not yet, but.) Just the traces of his lips, soft, careful not to abrade that tender skin with his beard. ]
I can be a gentleman and not go for blondes. I've got good taste.
...So good, I found a genuine cuddlebunny. Do you have any idea how rare those are? You're an endangered species. A work of art. Beyond invaluable.
[ There's another low, rumbling laugh, and Alice simply rests, indulging in this incredible nearness (this intimacy) (this heaven). ]
I'm never letting you go, Bunny. I know how lucky I am.
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And he fits.
He fits in the hammock. He fits against Alice's side, and in Alice's half embrace, and once Alice ensures their balance together on the hammock (he and his binary star, in their shared orbit, their tandem motion, their perfect soon-to-be-stillness), he draws his leg back up, knee cocked. Listening with a gentle smile and an almost awed look around the vicinity of his eyes.
(How Treavor touches him is a miracle. Not because he has never been touched so sweetly - though it's true, it's a rare occurrence - but because those touches have only ever been skin deep. They've never meant anything the way they do now.)
(What does it mean when a touch can reach miles beneath his skin? Treavor is older than he is by six or seven years. Did he live that long knowing he was alone in the world, waiting for his star to be born? Alice feels very sorry for taking so long to be born - but maybe that's why he came so quickly. Maybe that's why his mother was so young and his father was so young and he was born two months early.
Didn't mean to make you wait. But I got here as fast as I could.
He likes that.
He'll have to tell Treavor that sometime. Under starlight.
Yeah.)
Just now, Treavor is tossing his hair and Alice doesn't believe for one minute that he was never blonde, but he only nods seriously, very serious, except for the laugh creeping at his mouth and sparkling in his eyes. And of course he's listening intently to this lucky secret, because Treavor is (unfortunately) his secret, and Treavor is the luckiest thing to have ever happened to him, and he wants every word that falls from this beautiful man's mouth.
And his eyes widen just a little - a strong reaction for someone who at the moment is not particularly capable of much in the way of strong reactions.
He wants to point and say you nerd. But his hand is heavy, and resting against Treavor's back.
He wants to say fuck yes! But that's a response far outside his realm of peaceful enjoyment.
And. Treavor's pressing cuddling clinging and this might be the closest he's ever been to, the most physical contact he's ever had with him. Time feels like a slow-moving river, slower and slower and promising to turn crystalline. He extricates his arm from under his head and holds it, and his head, frozen in a pause for a beat, looking in wonder at the man (a man) (his) against him. ]
Christ, you're wonderful.
[ He believes it. Every word, whether he's high or sober, he's able to let slip with a grin.
Easily, he's closing all the gaps. Running a hand lazily over Treavor's waist, his hip, his thigh, tugging upward so their legs can twine and they can lie here together inextricable and perfect. And there are his arms, winding around his (what is Treavor to him? he never did ask.) rabbit, his cuddlebunny, yes.
This is what heaven might feel like.
((Or as close as he's ever going to know, anyway.))
He tells that thought to fuck off. Heaven is happiness, and feeling right, isn't it. He's happy here. This feels right, with Treavor nuzzling his throat and Alice stroking non-blonde hair.
This heaven is his.
After a moment or ten or two, he thinks he ought to answer, and does drawl some response - but not before carefully giving in to his own urge to not-quite-nuzzle. To nudge Treavor's jaw with his nose and brush his mouth along the long, clean lines of the other man's throat. (Not a kiss. Of course. Not yet. Not yet. (He doesn't know why not yet, but.) Just the traces of his lips, soft, careful not to abrade that tender skin with his beard. ]
I can be a gentleman and not go for blondes. I've got good taste.
...So good, I found a genuine cuddlebunny. Do you have any idea how rare those are? You're an endangered species. A work of art. Beyond invaluable.
[ There's another low, rumbling laugh, and Alice simply rests, indulging in this incredible nearness (this intimacy) (this heaven). ]
I'm never letting you go, Bunny. I know how lucky I am.