[ Alice’s thumb is soft along his lip, and Treavor’s closing his eyes against the feel of it, thinking he’d like to trace Alice’s lip right back, over and over until he knows that perfect shape by heart (and maybe then, maybe sometime he’ll put a kiss right on that perfect shape, and another, and another). Knowing no one’s ever touched him this way, with such heed and recognition; no one’s ever touched him like a way of knowing and receiving. Half-wondering how this guy could know the perfect harmony of a caress, whether he and Treavor maybe walk the same wayward frequency, or whether Alice is just good at listening, and isn’t listening another facet of care? So of course Alice’d be aces at it, and Treavor’ll try to listen back in kind, keep that harmony going.
With Alice, he thinks he can manage it.
With Alice, he knows he wants to.
And Alice has an idea and Alice is sharing that idea, a proposition curling warmth through Treavor’s chest and sparking brightness like stars across his thought, and okay, probably just about anything Alice could suggest with his thumb to Treavor’s lip would sound pretty great, but this idea - ’Breathe with me?’; Treavor’s chest fucking fluttered - sounds better and better the further it coheres through Treavor’s knowing, and he’s smiling, and he’s nodding a little, once and twice and three times, all a little sharp, very certain. Because it’s genius. Because it’s a fucking genius idea!
Because here they are together, holding together and pressing close and sharing, and here Treavor’s been wishing to twine closer still with Alice, to better and closer be where Alice is, and isn’t sharing breath a way to get there? Isn’t it the perfect fucking way to get there?
So he’s nodding again and affirming— ]
Yeah!
Shit. Yes. Please.
[ And smiling, and then there’s Alice’s touch again (a careful set of fingers, light and crucial, deft and bracing, a touch to set the center of Treavor’s world), and Alice having come so close, and Treavor can feel the easy rise of Alice’s breath, could almost actually kiss the guy and wants to, would like to, but isn’t it pretty great also, really great also to be this close and not yet meet, to give attention, give care so wholly to a breath, the life of this guy and the air out of Treavor’s own lungs, and he can taste Alice from a distance, and he thinks, ah fuck, he thinks this nearness could overwhelm him wonderfully.
There’s a soft sound from Alice, and there’s an offering of smoke, and if they weren’t so close and if the moment weren’t somehow so solemn on top of its joy, he might half-bite at the air, playful, quick. But this breath feels something like a gift and grace, consecration if Treavor might meet it, and Treavor tilts open his mouth to take in the smoke, inhaling gentle, thinking of Alice’s thumb and Alice’s tenor and of Alice’s form stretched long against him, half-thinking if ever there were a religion worth knowing, if ever there could be a blessing worthy of rejoinder and reception, it is this.
His hand shifts careful to the back of Alice’s head, to Alice’s hair, and Treavor gives a slow, a light, a careful soothing and welcome and soul-deep thanks.
And he tastes smoke, and he tastes Alice; there’s a sound deep in Treavor’s throat, blissful and stricken, and he needs nothing, oh nothing else in this world. ]
no subject
With Alice, he thinks he can manage it.
With Alice, he knows he wants to.
And Alice has an idea and Alice is sharing that idea, a proposition curling warmth through Treavor’s chest and sparking brightness like stars across his thought, and okay, probably just about anything Alice could suggest with his thumb to Treavor’s lip would sound pretty great, but this idea - ’Breathe with me?’; Treavor’s chest fucking fluttered - sounds better and better the further it coheres through Treavor’s knowing, and he’s smiling, and he’s nodding a little, once and twice and three times, all a little sharp, very certain. Because it’s genius. Because it’s a fucking genius idea!
Because here they are together, holding together and pressing close and sharing, and here Treavor’s been wishing to twine closer still with Alice, to better and closer be where Alice is, and isn’t sharing breath a way to get there? Isn’t it the perfect fucking way to get there?
So he’s nodding again and affirming— ]
Yeah!
Shit. Yes. Please.
[ And smiling, and then there’s Alice’s touch again (a careful set of fingers, light and crucial, deft and bracing, a touch to set the center of Treavor’s world), and Alice having come so close, and Treavor can feel the easy rise of Alice’s breath, could almost actually kiss the guy and wants to, would like to, but isn’t it pretty great also, really great also to be this close and not yet meet, to give attention, give care so wholly to a breath, the life of this guy and the air out of Treavor’s own lungs, and he can taste Alice from a distance, and he thinks, ah fuck, he thinks this nearness could overwhelm him wonderfully.
There’s a soft sound from Alice, and there’s an offering of smoke, and if they weren’t so close and if the moment weren’t somehow so solemn on top of its joy, he might half-bite at the air, playful, quick. But this breath feels something like a gift and grace, consecration if Treavor might meet it, and Treavor tilts open his mouth to take in the smoke, inhaling gentle, thinking of Alice’s thumb and Alice’s tenor and of Alice’s form stretched long against him, half-thinking if ever there were a religion worth knowing, if ever there could be a blessing worthy of rejoinder and reception, it is this.
His hand shifts careful to the back of Alice’s head, to Alice’s hair, and Treavor gives a slow, a light, a careful soothing and welcome and soul-deep thanks.
And he tastes smoke, and he tastes Alice; there’s a sound deep in Treavor’s throat, blissful and stricken, and he needs nothing, oh nothing else in this world. ]