[ this is quietly comfortable. delta sheds his jacket and shoes and socks, hitching onto his knees in front of ashe's unfinished sand castle. he tears the rice krispie wrapper with his teeth and takes a bite as he starts forming the dragon with one hand, long headless body stretching into a semi-circle around the base of the castle.
it's easier to focus on that than ashe's face and lips. less obvious, too. ]
You shouldn't keep your condoms in your wallet. [ god, he sounds like six. he flicks sand from his fingers, popping the rest of the rice krispie in his mouth and leaning over his knees to nudge his wallet with a curled knuckle. ] You dropped your wallet, by the way.
[ while crafting the dragon's head and slithering tongue, he wonders how often ashe has done this, and with who, if anyone. for delta this is every friday night in high school, laid on the beach away from the party with a girl on top of him or his head in her lap, gentle fingers mapping every sparse freckle on his face and nose. it feels tentatively familiar, intimacy dipped in glass. one wrong move or word and everything shatters to the shrill tune of ashe telling him to fuck off forever.
his eyes return to ashe's face when he says viv's name. has he been talking this whole time? fuck. ]
I never really knew my parents. [ never really upset him, either. his parents' former lives are shrouded in mystery because six doesn't talk about them ever and as far as delta knows he has no other living relatives. ashe's relationship with his mother may be fucked beyond repair, but delta can tell he loves her. he almost wonders what that's like. did his parents love him the way ashe loves his fuck-up mom?
two important facts delta learned in the time he spent on his knees sucking ashe's cock: he likes to touch, stroking his lashes and cheeks, smearing his bottom lip in saliva with his thumb, grabbing fistfuls of hair between hissed fucks — and he has a tattoo on his finger, almost invisible now in the dark. delta swings one leg over the castle and scoots closer to ashe, pulling his hand into his lap and turning it palm up.
he hooks his thumb over his finger, brushing sand from the tiny, neatly printed numbers. ] This is her, right?
[ ashe's hands are little ice cubes, so much colder than the rest of his body. he cages his hand in both palms, lips touching his fingers as he blows hot air into the gap left for his mouth. it's stupid and utterly gay, but he doesn't let go. ]
no subject
it's easier to focus on that than ashe's face and lips. less obvious, too. ]
You shouldn't keep your condoms in your wallet. [ god, he sounds like six. he flicks sand from his fingers, popping the rest of the rice krispie in his mouth and leaning over his knees to nudge his wallet with a curled knuckle. ] You dropped your wallet, by the way.
[ while crafting the dragon's head and slithering tongue, he wonders how often ashe has done this, and with who, if anyone. for delta this is every friday night in high school, laid on the beach away from the party with a girl on top of him or his head in her lap, gentle fingers mapping every sparse freckle on his face and nose. it feels tentatively familiar, intimacy dipped in glass. one wrong move or word and everything shatters to the shrill tune of ashe telling him to fuck off forever.
his eyes return to ashe's face when he says viv's name. has he been talking this whole time? fuck. ]
I never really knew my parents. [ never really upset him, either. his parents' former lives are shrouded in mystery because six doesn't talk about them ever and as far as delta knows he has no other living relatives. ashe's relationship with his mother may be fucked beyond repair, but delta can tell he loves her. he almost wonders what that's like. did his parents love him the way ashe loves his fuck-up mom?
two important facts delta learned in the time he spent on his knees sucking ashe's cock: he likes to touch, stroking his lashes and cheeks, smearing his bottom lip in saliva with his thumb, grabbing fistfuls of hair between hissed fucks — and he has a tattoo on his finger, almost invisible now in the dark. delta swings one leg over the castle and scoots closer to ashe, pulling his hand into his lap and turning it palm up.
he hooks his thumb over his finger, brushing sand from the tiny, neatly printed numbers. ] This is her, right?
[ ashe's hands are little ice cubes, so much colder than the rest of his body. he cages his hand in both palms, lips touching his fingers as he blows hot air into the gap left for his mouth. it's stupid and utterly gay, but he doesn't let go. ]
There must have periods of some normalcy.