He feels a little detached, in a good way. As if the little hit of ecstasy has done its work in severing him from the potential for darker rumination to the point that he feels a little ahistorical, very present, quite alive. Like he is a person for whom all ways Daniel wants to touch him is okay.
Which is always true, but complicated, snarled up enough that it takes work to untangle, work he doesn't always wish to do. Now it is simple.
So: an encouraging, satisfied sound for the feeling of Daniel palming over him, a shift of his body back into this touch, and then back down into where he is settled. He wishes they didn't have any clothes in the way, and as he wishes it, there is an odd sense that Daniel might pick up, of fabric being tugged in a few different directions. Pulled taut, then loose again.
Not simply clumsy telekinetic grasping, but also, a seam weaving itself apart, threads furling out into the air like ink in water. Buttons skittering aside, a closed zipper unmoored from the stitching. As if nothing is very real, or everything is temporary, and can be disassembled once it is made aware of itself.
no subject
Which is always true, but complicated, snarled up enough that it takes work to untangle, work he doesn't always wish to do. Now it is simple.
So: an encouraging, satisfied sound for the feeling of Daniel palming over him, a shift of his body back into this touch, and then back down into where he is settled. He wishes they didn't have any clothes in the way, and as he wishes it, there is an odd sense that Daniel might pick up, of fabric being tugged in a few different directions. Pulled taut, then loose again.
Not simply clumsy telekinetic grasping, but also, a seam weaving itself apart, threads furling out into the air like ink in water. Buttons skittering aside, a closed zipper unmoored from the stitching. As if nothing is very real, or everything is temporary, and can be disassembled once it is made aware of itself.