[ said, with the whisper of something wry, something waiting in the wings for recognition to dawn upon markus's sternly-composed face. already, simon's composure comes back to him; he's practiced, experienced in masking not only his feelings, but his mind. more a ghost than something alive, aged in consciousness and clearly in body. he imagines markus yearns for comfort, auditory and physical. it's with that in mind ( the lingering warmth of markus's mouth on his thigh, between them -- ) that he brings his hands to that freckled face and presses his cold palms to simulated skin.
simulated, and undeniably warm. ]
There are trucks. We'll need to take one, we can't walk in this weather - we'll die long before we get to the city.
[ for a long, lingering moment, he keeps his hands where they are. fingertips curled around the rounded edge of markus's jaw, tucked soft against his throat and chin, his thumbs aligned with the outer corners of his bicolored eyes. it reminds him of their positions in the church, the way markus hadn't wanted to be still, hadn't wanted to linger - and now he does. it worries simon. he's stolen jericho's leader from the cause, and doesn't know what affect it will have on his mind. it's the greatest crime he could commit, he thinks. ]
We'll talk, when we're there. I promised you, I didn't forget.
[ the words are soft, almost breathless though he doesn't need to breathe; a horrible promise, sealed with the faint press of his mouth to the corner of markus's own. one more crime to add to the pile. he'll burn for them all in the end, he knows. ]
no subject
[ said, with the whisper of something wry, something waiting in the wings for recognition to dawn upon markus's sternly-composed face. already, simon's composure comes back to him; he's practiced, experienced in masking not only his feelings, but his mind. more a ghost than something alive, aged in consciousness and clearly in body. he imagines markus yearns for comfort, auditory and physical. it's with that in mind ( the lingering warmth of markus's mouth on his thigh, between them -- ) that he brings his hands to that freckled face and presses his cold palms to simulated skin.
simulated, and undeniably warm. ]
There are trucks. We'll need to take one, we can't walk in this weather - we'll die long before we get to the city.
[ for a long, lingering moment, he keeps his hands where they are. fingertips curled around the rounded edge of markus's jaw, tucked soft against his throat and chin, his thumbs aligned with the outer corners of his bicolored eyes. it reminds him of their positions in the church, the way markus hadn't wanted to be still, hadn't wanted to linger - and now he does. it worries simon. he's stolen jericho's leader from the cause, and doesn't know what affect it will have on his mind. it's the greatest crime he could commit, he thinks. ]
We'll talk, when we're there. I promised you, I didn't forget.
[ the words are soft, almost breathless though he doesn't need to breathe; a horrible promise, sealed with the faint press of his mouth to the corner of markus's own. one more crime to add to the pile. he'll burn for them all in the end, he knows. ]
Come on. This way.