"Indeed." The same slight playfulness that's behind the a gesture that can be far more ceremonious. Jedao had answered, but there are things he likes to hear again, whatever he can feel.
He smirks slightly at the question. "These ones will last, though not quite the same." Waking up with old bruises, almost half-way healed, yet, he thinks, still a reminder of the in between nature, of what can last where normal dreams don' linger.
He removes the gloves carefully, they have no real meaning to him but they're part of a whole that has meaning to Jedao. He leans forward a little to kiss Jedao again, holding on, this time, with bare hands.
"Good," he says firmly; even if they'll likely be lost in the ordinary dapple of bruises from regularly training with Fives and Steve, he likes that they'll be there, blood-shadows of physical proof that this happened, inscribed under his skin. He shivers into the kiss, desire tripping and spiking hot in his belly, whimpering for the briefest moment after the kiss ends.
He catches his breath and lies back when he's told to, the hard wood of the table forcing the alacrity of eagerness to slow just a little, and he melts as he settles, the easy relaxation of trust, of willingly giving himself up - not just for a semi-anonymous night, this time, but as a joyful confirmation of the deeper truth.
His slight huff is something close to amusement; or possibly agreement, it's certainly not an idea he minds. He wraps a bare hand tightly around one Jedao's wrists, feeling the pulse against his palm.
He moves so he can kiss Jedao again, running his fingers down the inside of his arm. It's not the easiest angle he could've chosen but that wasn't the point. Here, more than anywhere else he knows, there's nothing that could be called anonymous. Even though he doesn't chose to go look for it, they're themselves, with all the danger and trust that entails.
There's no doubting that the slow, careful methodical remapping is from Horseriver's steady confidence, not from his earlier uncertainty in settling into his body. If he wasn't otherwise occupied, he might have said something about what can be learned by patience, as he stretches out his mind to catch any and all signals.
He shudders when Horseriver grips his wrist, heartbeat spiking for a moment under his fingers, something white and bright and blissfully blank flashing through his mind, peace and hunger inextricably tangled on its edges. He kisses back languidly, ardently, and the slight awkwardness of the position only feeds into the sweet settled ease Horseriver gives him, which ebbs and flows in terms of how much other cognizance it edges out, but doesn't disappear even when Horseriver lets his wrist go.
Jedao leaves his arm where it is as long as Horseriver is touching it, then lifts it out of the way, over his head when Horseriver starts exploring in earnest, wrapping his other hand around the same wrist in as close to the same place as he can manage.
There's a faint nervousness around his reconstructed ribs - less actual weakness than psychosomatic, at the joints from bone to ceramatrix do still ache periodically. Some scars he has no feeling in at all, and some the nerves are a little funny at the edges, a fizzing feeling when Horseriver traces them that makes him squirm and struggle to muffle giggles. He loves being touched with an omnivorous, ravenous enjoyment, loves the feel of Horseriver's hands, the strength and the sword callouses, deliberate fingertips and broad palms. He whines in his throat for attention to his sternum and clavicle, jerks in surprise at his own greedy reaction if Horseriver touches his nipples, goes a little more soft and pliable when Horseriver reaches the vulnerable plane of his stomach, goes smaller inside his own head, tentative but still trusting.
It would only take a moment (a choice) of disregard for him to shatter Jedao's ribs. Most of his strength is a simple translation of what was: a hunter used to spear and bow and the animal itself; a soldier who had learned the meaning of the word as he had taken up a sword and ax and the body of the man next to him. But, here, there's more than just a shaman's enhanced strength, or perhaps it's exactly that, the gravity he carries as the anchor of the dream-vision. The weight of it could snap bone, not in directed viciousness - there are far less physical cracks he would search for then - but in the careless cruelty of simply not caring. His touch isn't soft but it's the focused intensity on the reactions he draws from his exploration.
He opens himself to reflected reactions, letting himself be moved by the feelings in turn. His own pleasure at the physicality of it all is amplified and tied to Jedao's love for it. He rests fingers against a scar with no feeling before retracing the edge of another to make him squirm, a teasing amusement but without the walls of bitterness and protective sharp edged irony that his humor is usually hidden within. He runs his hands across Jedao's clavicle and then down, the edges of his palms resting on his sternum as he sees how much of Jedao's chest he can cover with his hands extended, noting both the surprise and reaction when he brushes over his nipples. He leaves his hands as a solid weight against his chest as he kisses him more deeply for a few long moments.
His hands are lighter as he traces them across Jedao's stomach but he moves with no less confidence. He can feel the ease, the shape of it, changing but never gone. It would be easy for him to push there, shape the peace into something that would drag Jedao completely in. But trust, freely given, is a gift he still holds precious.
He reaches up again, half-pining Jedao as he grips his wrist again, his hold firm and sure, with a warmth to it of words lost.
"Get me off." The angle isn't really any less angle but Jedao has a free hand and Horseriver's faith in his abilities, not that it's a particularly difficult challenge either, after the doubled back pleasure of his exploration.
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no subject
He smirks slightly at the question. "These ones will last, though not quite the same." Waking up with old bruises, almost half-way healed, yet, he thinks, still a reminder of the in between nature, of what can last where normal dreams don' linger.
He removes the gloves carefully, they have no real meaning to him but they're part of a whole that has meaning to Jedao. He leans forward a little to kiss Jedao again, holding on, this time, with bare hands.
"Lie down."
no subject
He catches his breath and lies back when he's told to, the hard wood of the table forcing the alacrity of eagerness to slow just a little, and he melts as he settles, the easy relaxation of trust, of willingly giving himself up - not just for a semi-anonymous night, this time, but as a joyful confirmation of the deeper truth.
no subject
He moves so he can kiss Jedao again, running his fingers down the inside of his arm. It's not the easiest angle he could've chosen but that wasn't the point. Here, more than anywhere else he knows, there's nothing that could be called anonymous. Even though he doesn't chose to go look for it, they're themselves, with all the danger and trust that entails.
There's no doubting that the slow, careful methodical remapping is from Horseriver's steady confidence, not from his earlier uncertainty in settling into his body. If he wasn't otherwise occupied, he might have said something about what can be learned by patience, as he stretches out his mind to catch any and all signals.
no subject
Jedao leaves his arm where it is as long as Horseriver is touching it, then lifts it out of the way, over his head when Horseriver starts exploring in earnest, wrapping his other hand around the same wrist in as close to the same place as he can manage.
There's a faint nervousness around his reconstructed ribs - less actual weakness than psychosomatic, at the joints from bone to ceramatrix do still ache periodically. Some scars he has no feeling in at all, and some the nerves are a little funny at the edges, a fizzing feeling when Horseriver traces them that makes him squirm and struggle to muffle giggles. He loves being touched with an omnivorous, ravenous enjoyment, loves the feel of Horseriver's hands, the strength and the sword callouses, deliberate fingertips and broad palms. He whines in his throat for attention to his sternum and clavicle, jerks in surprise at his own greedy reaction if Horseriver touches his nipples, goes a little more soft and pliable when Horseriver reaches the vulnerable plane of his stomach, goes smaller inside his own head, tentative but still trusting.
no subject
He opens himself to reflected reactions, letting himself be moved by the feelings in turn. His own pleasure at the physicality of it all is amplified and tied to Jedao's love for it. He rests fingers against a scar with no feeling before retracing the edge of another to make him squirm, a teasing amusement but without the walls of bitterness and protective sharp edged irony that his humor is usually hidden within. He runs his hands across Jedao's clavicle and then down, the edges of his palms resting on his sternum as he sees how much of Jedao's chest he can cover with his hands extended, noting both the surprise and reaction when he brushes over his nipples. He leaves his hands as a solid weight against his chest as he kisses him more deeply for a few long moments.
His hands are lighter as he traces them across Jedao's stomach but he moves with no less confidence. He can feel the ease, the shape of it, changing but never gone. It would be easy for him to push there, shape the peace into something that would drag Jedao completely in. But trust, freely given, is a gift he still holds precious.
He reaches up again, half-pining Jedao as he grips his wrist again, his hold firm and sure, with a warmth to it of words lost.
"Get me off." The angle isn't really any less angle but Jedao has a free hand and Horseriver's faith in his abilities, not that it's a particularly difficult challenge either, after the doubled back pleasure of his exploration.