[ the strength it had taken to be so resistant to shane's affections melts beneath the solid warmth of him, anchoring larus so he doesn't float away in a sea of confusion and pain and unspoken promises. it breaks and crests, ringing in his ears as the sweetness of it cuts through the long days, weeks, months spent chasing after one another from afar, and larus doesn't know how he'd managed to stay so unaffected for so long.
and yes, some of it is probably the fact he'd nearly knocked himself out on the ice. and yes, some of it is shane's mere presence on all sides. but none of it cracks him open the way that single, solitary word does.
sweetheart.
i've got you. i promise.
the noise he makes in the back of his throat is unprompted and uncontrolled, a rush of air like he's been punched, and though he tries to swallow around it, tries to stop whatever's careening wildly inside of him, he can't. his arms tighten around him, sliding forward on the counter to press as close to shane as he can manage without climbing inside him, and he hooks his good leg around him. pulling, squeezing, clinging as tightly as he can manage while he breathes him in.
those days they'd had in montreal feel so surreal now, like a hazy dream in the face of reality. that this – the timed hours, the sporadic moments, the casual inconsistencies – is all they will ever have until it kills him. if it's not killing him already. ]
Sorry, [ he whispers after a lengthy stretch of silence filled with his own hitched breathing, muffled somewhere against shane's chest. and he isn't going to cry. he isn't, but it'll be a close thing, his head hurting with how hard he squeezes his eyes shut. ] I'm sorry this is all we have.
[ like they both hadn't made this choice. like it's the only thing they'll ever be able to hold onto. ]
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and yes, some of it is probably the fact he'd nearly knocked himself out on the ice. and yes, some of it is shane's mere presence on all sides. but none of it cracks him open the way that single, solitary word does.
sweetheart.
i've got you. i promise.
the noise he makes in the back of his throat is unprompted and uncontrolled, a rush of air like he's been punched, and though he tries to swallow around it, tries to stop whatever's careening wildly inside of him, he can't. his arms tighten around him, sliding forward on the counter to press as close to shane as he can manage without climbing inside him, and he hooks his good leg around him. pulling, squeezing, clinging as tightly as he can manage while he breathes him in.
those days they'd had in montreal feel so surreal now, like a hazy dream in the face of reality. that this – the timed hours, the sporadic moments, the casual inconsistencies – is all they will ever have until it kills him. if it's not killing him already. ]
Sorry, [ he whispers after a lengthy stretch of silence filled with his own hitched breathing, muffled somewhere against shane's chest. and he isn't going to cry. he isn't, but it'll be a close thing, his head hurting with how hard he squeezes his eyes shut. ] I'm sorry this is all we have.
[ like they both hadn't made this choice. like it's the only thing they'll ever be able to hold onto. ]