The shapes at the back of the cabin are muted in darkness, and for a time Wrench finds himself chasing illusions along the walls. He watches the patches of deep twist and startle under the crack of lightning and imagines a much more elaborate piece of drama acted out by those shadow puppets. It holds more interest to his weary mind than the disconnected drone of words on a page. Here in the cabin everything hums with life and energy, every action held together by a story all its own he'd like to uncover. Not for a moment has he stopped wondering about the two men with whom he shares the offered space: the one with blades buried up his hands, and the one who can make himself disappear in a puff of ozone. Wrench imagines where they came from and how they found one another, what circumstances conspired to bring them together even before this place, and what's changed for them now that they're here together again.
He watches so long as the thoughts drift in and out of his mind that it takes him by surprise when another errant crack of lighting reveals the figures in bed have moved after all. Their steady drift toward one another has not just been the figment of his imagination. It makes him sit up a little more, watching in the pale moonlight as they pull towards one another in darkened suggestions of action. A leg here, an arm there. Wrench feels his breath increase when the storm reveals Kurt's foot lifted high in shadow towards the window. He bites around his own tongue, but soon finds his own hand disappearing between his waist and the back of the couch, fingers dragging down his zipper to give a little more room to what his thoughts are doing to him.
Wrench has known them both individually. Felt the specific weight of both man's hands in his hair and against his hips. The flush of their skin brushing against his own, and the taste of each one in his mouth. Now he imagines them tasting one another. The beckoning of their bodies towards that center point in the middle of the small bed. He feels the tingle of anticipation in his chest, and takes himself in his own hand, easing himself with a gurgle and a sigh as he begins to stroke.
cw: nsfw
He watches so long as the thoughts drift in and out of his mind that it takes him by surprise when another errant crack of lighting reveals the figures in bed have moved after all. Their steady drift toward one another has not just been the figment of his imagination. It makes him sit up a little more, watching in the pale moonlight as they pull towards one another in darkened suggestions of action. A leg here, an arm there. Wrench feels his breath increase when the storm reveals Kurt's foot lifted high in shadow towards the window. He bites around his own tongue, but soon finds his own hand disappearing between his waist and the back of the couch, fingers dragging down his zipper to give a little more room to what his thoughts are doing to him.
Wrench has known them both individually. Felt the specific weight of both man's hands in his hair and against his hips. The flush of their skin brushing against his own, and the taste of each one in his mouth. Now he imagines them tasting one another. The beckoning of their bodies towards that center point in the middle of the small bed. He feels the tingle of anticipation in his chest, and takes himself in his own hand, easing himself with a gurgle and a sigh as he begins to stroke.