[ He pushes the shirt as far as it can reach, a pause necessary to expose more of that skin, ride the bundled fabric up to his collarbone. Let his mouth come down to the now framed chest, forehead bumping against the material and his mouth and tongue getting to taste Inigo's skin. Torn, somewhere between his own sense of desperation, his own desire at communication and a pinch of shame closer to salt, with its lid coming off.
His mouth begs him to go farther than where Inigo's chest ends, his abdomen begins, lower down than his belly button; but the conversation those few nights ago hasn't left him, not even in the midst of their kissing here, this mess of a remedy to forget the rest of the world around them. Is this simply loneliness? A selfishness? That he's so embarrassing, he'd use his best friend's loss and pain just to satiate himself? Look at him, so pathetic-
Tidus rises, his knee between Inigo's leg, but only for balance. His elbows still bent as he hovers to meet his face again, and he weighs in himself the emotion the stirs in him to look at Inigo under him, what it feels, which way the scales dip.
And he's reminded most of all what was said, what he couldn't protest; what's only in him now to, his voice quiet but thick: ]
It's not nothing. Nothing we do's just nothing. [ His fingers clench against the bedding, resting on either side. ] I'll never forget you. I don't want you to be alone.
[ That's what this was. That's what this was about. This is what we promised.
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His mouth begs him to go farther than where Inigo's chest ends, his abdomen begins, lower down than his belly button; but the conversation those few nights ago hasn't left him, not even in the midst of their kissing here, this mess of a remedy to forget the rest of the world around them. Is this simply loneliness? A selfishness? That he's so embarrassing, he'd use his best friend's loss and pain just to satiate himself? Look at him, so pathetic-
Tidus rises, his knee between Inigo's leg, but only for balance. His elbows still bent as he hovers to meet his face again, and he weighs in himself the emotion the stirs in him to look at Inigo under him, what it feels, which way the scales dip.
And he's reminded most of all what was said, what he couldn't protest; what's only in him now to, his voice quiet but thick: ]
It's not nothing. Nothing we do's just nothing. [ His fingers clench against the bedding, resting on either side. ] I'll never forget you. I don't want you to be alone.
[ That's what this was. That's what this was about. This is what we promised.
He just doesn't want to be misunderstood. ]