( ephemera doesn't tighten his hand around his throat the way he should. a miserable disappointment, felix thinks, wretchedly. in the hallway. on the roof. here. he never does what he should. he never does what felix expects, no matter how predictable, no matter how easy of a read. inescapable as fate. out of his fucking control.
he waits for a hit, then. like in the hallway, the snap of a pistol across his face and taste of gunmetal in his mouth. instead ephemera's hand sits heavily over the back of his neck, palm cupping his implant, and felix twitches under him. )
Don't. ( quiet and cornered, tight. please don't. i'm not like that. i'm not like you. did you not hear what i fucking said? don't. you'll suffer for this, too.
history repeats itself.
his fist loosens in his hair, fingertips skimming the back of ephemera's neck, ghosting his implant like the featherlight brush of a caress. he hooks his arm around ephemera's shoulders, pulls him down tight against him, until his weight grounds him into the dirt and they're pressed limb-to-limb, heartbeat to heartbeat. focus. where are you? duplicity. the up. the festival. a ring. there's a crowd. you're exposed. you're losing your shit. shut it down.
he can't. it's too late. he drops his head, mouth touching the muscled tendon where ephemera's shoulder slopes into his throat. his body is an anchor over him, holding him down, and that's more wrong than anything. that skims too close to a hurt that'll never heal. he thinks of ortez in ephemera's detailed sketch.
oh, fuck. )
Ephemera. ( fuck. he grips him tighter, viselike, lifting his head and pressing their faces close, sliding his nose against ephemera's nose. ) Please fucking don't.
no subject
he waits for a hit, then. like in the hallway, the snap of a pistol across his face and taste of gunmetal in his mouth. instead ephemera's hand sits heavily over the back of his neck, palm cupping his implant, and felix twitches under him. )
Don't. ( quiet and cornered, tight. please don't. i'm not like that. i'm not like you. did you not hear what i fucking said? don't. you'll suffer for this, too.
history repeats itself.
his fist loosens in his hair, fingertips skimming the back of ephemera's neck, ghosting his implant like the featherlight brush of a caress. he hooks his arm around ephemera's shoulders, pulls him down tight against him, until his weight grounds him into the dirt and they're pressed limb-to-limb, heartbeat to heartbeat. focus. where are you? duplicity. the up. the festival. a ring. there's a crowd. you're exposed. you're losing your shit. shut it down.
he can't. it's too late. he drops his head, mouth touching the muscled tendon where ephemera's shoulder slopes into his throat. his body is an anchor over him, holding him down, and that's more wrong than anything. that skims too close to a hurt that'll never heal. he thinks of ortez in ephemera's detailed sketch.
oh, fuck. )
Ephemera. ( fuck. he grips him tighter, viselike, lifting his head and pressing their faces close, sliding his nose against ephemera's nose. ) Please fucking don't.