[ his heart is pulling stunts at something as simple as braiding fingers. it's probably not a good feel, is it? jayce's hands are riddled with broad callouses, scars from burns or miscalculations. they're rough worker hands not at all fit for petting or sweet carresses, but he still wants to feel them brush, feel the space of such delicate, nimble fingers filling the gaps like they were the correct keys to opening him up.
there's a square tack room mirror in between the racks of saddles and champion bow ties. jayce hasn't made use for it until today, when he had to check up on his appearance and groom up moments before they met. but . . . ]
We'd have to get up.
[ his words are a little coy, a bit reluctant— but good humored. he'll get up at the drop of a hat if viktor really wanted to.
or maybe not. maybe they could scoot over to proper view. jayce may be plotting the distance and force needed, adjusting his hold into a full body embrace with safety in mind— ]
no subject
there's a square tack room mirror in between the racks of saddles and champion bow ties. jayce hasn't made use for it until today, when he had to check up on his appearance and groom up moments before they met. but . . . ]
We'd have to get up.
[ his words are a little coy, a bit reluctant— but good humored. he'll get up at the drop of a hat if viktor really wanted to.
or maybe not. maybe they could scoot over to proper view. jayce may be plotting the distance and force needed, adjusting his hold into a full body embrace with safety in mind— ]