His father's was a loving violence that left an invisible scar. His mother's inscribed his soul with a disheartened love that muted his world. And his siblings, theirs was an absence; an unfulfilled longing he told himself he did not need. His heart grew dull and cold like a winter's night. Then, there were his friends, their friendly touch on his shoulder felt like a balm. It warmed his heart. Made him remember long-buried memories. His mother's smile while she combed her fingers through his hair. Her gentle presence quieted his racing heart when he came looking for them.
Touch is a memory.
Memories he's grown from seeds he'd cultivated, not always knowing how much to tend them. Afraid of overwatering them, not all of them bloomed. The few that did were precious to him. Allen is precious to him. Beautiful and kind. They've made a sea of memories together. Holding hands, sharing a bath, a bed. Kissing. In their room, kitchen, living room, their reading nook. He'd grown accustomed to the natural progression of their relationship that always seemed to take one step forward and two steps back. This time, the natural pattern was broken. They'd boldly taken two steps forward.
If ever he was uncertain about his feelings for Allen, he now knows it was inexperience and not a lack of passion for how easily he lights an inferno in his veins. ]
Allen--!
[ The moment he rolls his hips into him, his thoughts scatter, and a deep-throated sound escapes him. ]
Allen.
[ There's a building frenzy in his tone that makes his blood blaze overwhelming the ice. Shouto buries his face into his chest, grappling for his hips with both hands to stop him? Encourage him? ]
Too much.
[ He tries to warn him between clenched teeth, even as he jerks his hips into Allen wrenching an inarticulate noise from him that leaves him teetering on the pin of a needle radiating a stifling heat. ]
no subject
His father's was a loving violence that left an invisible scar. His mother's inscribed his soul with a disheartened love that muted his world. And his siblings, theirs was an absence; an unfulfilled longing he told himself he did not need. His heart grew dull and cold like a winter's night. Then, there were his friends, their friendly touch on his shoulder felt like a balm. It warmed his heart. Made him remember long-buried memories. His mother's smile while she combed her fingers through his hair. Her gentle presence quieted his racing heart when he came looking for them.
Touch is a memory.
Memories he's grown from seeds he'd cultivated, not always knowing how much to tend them. Afraid of overwatering them, not all of them bloomed. The few that did were precious to him. Allen is precious to him. Beautiful and kind. They've made a sea of memories together. Holding hands, sharing a bath, a bed. Kissing. In their room, kitchen, living room, their reading nook. He'd grown accustomed to the natural progression of their relationship that always seemed to take one step forward and two steps back. This time, the natural pattern was broken. They'd boldly taken two steps forward.
If ever he was uncertain about his feelings for Allen, he now knows it was inexperience and not a lack of passion for how easily he lights an inferno in his veins. ]
Allen--!
[ The moment he rolls his hips into him, his thoughts scatter, and a deep-throated sound escapes him. ]
Allen.
[ There's a building frenzy in his tone that makes his blood blaze overwhelming the ice. Shouto buries his face into his chest, grappling for his hips with both hands to stop him? Encourage him? ]
Too much.
[ He tries to warn him between clenched teeth, even as he jerks his hips into Allen wrenching an inarticulate noise from him that leaves him teetering on the pin of a needle radiating a stifling heat. ]