A thread between them. Not of maker and fledgling, but of their own weaving. Red, like blood, like the line on his laptop audio recorder. It stayed there, stitched and intact, even when they'd both forgotten most of it. Daniel thinks of how he always turned down scar revision. He thinks of Louis reading his books.
He tells his brain: Do not. But there's still a thought, one he's had before. That he's probably in love with Louis. What an idiot. Daniel knows better. And yet, and yet, and yet.
"We don't have to go completely off the edge of the cliff first thing," he says, fond and amused against Louis' mouth. Returning that bite, flat teeth. (Fangs ache to extend, with this talk. He resists.) "Just... let's just. See. If I still even know what I'm doing."
More kissing, he can't get enough of it. Tries not to think about what Louis' blood must taste like. Tastes his skin instead, and leaves a quick-fading hickey on his chest. Slides hands down, lifting off only briefly when he becomes away of how cold the metal of his watch is; takes it off, before palming over the front of Louis' trousers.
no subject
He tells his brain: Do not. But there's still a thought, one he's had before. That he's probably in love with Louis. What an idiot. Daniel knows better. And yet, and yet, and yet.
"We don't have to go completely off the edge of the cliff first thing," he says, fond and amused against Louis' mouth. Returning that bite, flat teeth. (Fangs ache to extend, with this talk. He resists.) "Just... let's just. See. If I still even know what I'm doing."
More kissing, he can't get enough of it. Tries not to think about what Louis' blood must taste like. Tastes his skin instead, and leaves a quick-fading hickey on his chest. Slides hands down, lifting off only briefly when he becomes away of how cold the metal of his watch is; takes it off, before palming over the front of Louis' trousers.
(Can't be serious? Can he?)