[there hasn't been a day since he's died where he hasn't thought about this at least once. the wish usually goes skipping across his brain, unwelcome, every time he's left alone with his old friend. he can't help that it's nice to think about; it's worth the guilt that always crushes him afterward.
all of his wondering and yearning doesn't hold a candle to the reality, however. the table slamming into his side is somewhere very far away, with the smell and feel of familiar, hot skin up against his mouth. it fills his senses like breath in starving lungs, and nothing could tear him away from that.
instinct has him hauling himself forward with his other hand hooked on Zhas' neck, and rolling into him to keep his balance pitched backward as they hit the table.
he doesn't want to hurt him. he's just taking what Zhas said he should have. he doesn't mean to bite so hard when he finds the softest, warmest part of his throat. he just doesn't want him to get away.]
no subject
all of his wondering and yearning doesn't hold a candle to the reality, however. the table slamming into his side is somewhere very far away, with the smell and feel of familiar, hot skin up against his mouth. it fills his senses like breath in starving lungs, and nothing could tear him away from that.
instinct has him hauling himself forward with his other hand hooked on Zhas' neck, and rolling into him to keep his balance pitched backward as they hit the table.
he doesn't want to hurt him. he's just taking what Zhas said he should have. he doesn't mean to bite so hard when he finds the softest, warmest part of his throat. he just doesn't want him to get away.]