[ zetes doesn't make any kind of fuss about having the medical supplies put aside for a moment, choosing instead to sink into the warmth of sebastian's embrace, arms wrapping around his back. he inhales long and slow once he's been tucked under sebastian's chin, breathing in the familiar scent of him and letting it spark a sense of calm. ]
And I was so looking forward to that martini. [ a bout of humor that mostly gets muffled against sebastian's chest as zetes is reluctant to pull so much as an inch, but at least sebastian can enjoy the press of lips and heat against his collar. zetes would have happily accepted a martini if it weren't for his more immediate duty of making sure the love of his life's injuries are properly doctored, so on the whole it's probably better that sebastian is not a 50s housewife. point in fact, zetes would much rather he just be sebastian anyway.
his eyes find sebastian's, his smile somehow conveying a ten minute speech's worth of forgiveness in its subtle curve. he squeezes sebastian's fingers and lets the back of his hand stroke over soft cheek and stubble, taking sebastian's gesture of reassurance and giving it back in turn. ]
Okay. [ he says, stretching up enough to kiss sebastian's chin. ] But I'm gonna fix you up, anyway.
[ this with a meaningful look at the bag next to them. ]
[ sebastian makes a vaguely acknowledging noise without actually following zetes' line of sight; yes yes, the bag is there, yes, he will submit to these healing ministrations without protest ( even if pre-zetes his instinct was to kind of just like .......suffer, since it's not like he didn't cause his own injury ), but first--
first. it's further reassurance for himself as much for zetes, to wrap both arms around his back and draw him all the closer left between them til he'd swear he can feel their heartbeats in the same ribcage, and pull him up on his toes for a proper kiss. softer than probably literally anything else he does with his mouth. he never knows how to say thank you for loving me in circumstances like this, thoughts and voice a Gordian knot of guilt and embarrassment even as he tries to accept forgiveness. he's grateful for that too, but it's a struggle to work past how he's made zetes need to forgive him in the first place, afuckingain.
but at the same time zetes is, has always been the one thing capable of just slicing that tangle in two, and sebastian is doing his damnedest to let him. so. ]
Okay, Florence Nightingale, I'm all yours. Just had to get that in before I forgot.
[ this is funny because as if he would ever forget how important kisses are!! speaking of, he stops blocking zetes' access to his bag of supplies as well as his hand, stepping back to hold it up between them. ]
[ there's no push back from zetes as sebastian banishes the last inches of space left between them, draws him up so his heels no longer touch the ground. he goes willing into that warm hold of apology, letting the press of sebastian's mouth convey what this means in a way easier than words. zetes himself has found comfort in his voice after pushing past the old instincts that would convince him to keep anything more dangerous than open friendliness in check, but he knows long conversations and bouts of blunt honesty aren't the answer to everything. especially not with sebastian, when he can feel it all with the same kind of clarity. he knows there are some shames that are better left crushed under teeth or between tongues. the air around them is clearer without words now.
zetes hums a soft, agreeable note as they break apart, smiling as his eyes open again. ]
I wouldn't let you forget. [ this a reassuring mumble before he drags his attention away from the shape of sebastian's mouth and finds the bag of supplies again. he grabs for it with one hand. ]
I should have bought a bonnet. Bet I'd look good in a bonnet. [ y'know, for the full florence nightingale effect.
more important than that though is the hand now held between them, torn and flecked in dried blood that would have made zetes' stomach turn when he was younger. he's become more accustomed to the sight of injuries now—all part of the job—but that doesn't mean he's grown any more comfortable with what marks and cuts and bruises mean. hurt of any kind doesn't get easier with time.
he takes sebastian's wrist delicately with one hand and starts to back him up towards the bed, aiming to sit him down on the edge so zetes doesn't have to actually reach up to do his healing. he's half tempted to say sebastian's mile long legs are a nuisance, but that feels like some form of blasphemy. maybe he'll just decide to take some satisfaction in sebastian's knees hitting the mattress instead. ]
Thanks for being a cooperative patient, sir. [ sincere if silly. it's possible he was a well-meaning nurse in another life. ]
[ as he backs up into the mattress and sits down, cooperatively, holding up his injured hand, cooperatively. the look he gives zetes is just shy of doe-eyed, effect increased by the unconscious tilt of his head. ]
And not at all like Laura Ingalls Wilder in drag.
[ maybe it's not the right place for a joke, at least not from him; sometimes he misjudges that, although usually not with zetes. he just wants to skip the part where they Talk about what was bothering him, because it's always something. it's always going to be something, unless someone invents a cure for psionic disorders. even then, despite all his yelling that he'd kick this out of his brain in a heartbeat, he doesn't really know if he would. it's part of him, and moreover it ties him and zetes together in a way nothing else would, and nobody else would understand.
he steers that train of thought directly off the tracks for the moment, reaching out deliberately for the shimmering edges of zetes' emotions, the murkier undercurrent of worry subsumed in the desire to care for him. it washes over him like - he can't help thinking this - sunlight breaking through clouds, and he lets his eyes close for a few seconds. apparently that's more important than whether or not his audience is receptive to his particular brand of humor.
like an echo of zetes' previous look, he smiles again when he opens his eyes. ]
Hey.
[ accompanying this with toeing zetes' ankle with a socked foot: ]
I love you. You know that, right?
[ this is i promise not to go anywhere in code, he's just. not going to say that out loud. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
And I was so looking forward to that martini. [ a bout of humor that mostly gets muffled against sebastian's chest as zetes is reluctant to pull so much as an inch, but at least sebastian can enjoy the press of lips and heat against his collar. zetes would have happily accepted a martini if it weren't for his more immediate duty of making sure the love of his life's injuries are properly doctored, so on the whole it's probably better that sebastian is not a 50s housewife. point in fact, zetes would much rather he just be sebastian anyway.
his eyes find sebastian's, his smile somehow conveying a ten minute speech's worth of forgiveness in its subtle curve. he squeezes sebastian's fingers and lets the back of his hand stroke over soft cheek and stubble, taking sebastian's gesture of reassurance and giving it back in turn. ]
Okay. [ he says, stretching up enough to kiss sebastian's chin. ] But I'm gonna fix you up, anyway.
[ this with a meaningful look at the bag next to them. ]
no subject
first. it's further reassurance for himself as much for zetes, to wrap both arms around his back and draw him all the closer left between them til he'd swear he can feel their heartbeats in the same ribcage, and pull him up on his toes for a proper kiss. softer than probably literally anything else he does with his mouth. he never knows how to say thank you for loving me in circumstances like this, thoughts and voice a Gordian knot of guilt and embarrassment even as he tries to accept forgiveness. he's grateful for that too, but it's a struggle to work past how he's made zetes need to forgive him in the first place, afuckingain.
but at the same time zetes is, has always been the one thing capable of just slicing that tangle in two, and sebastian is doing his damnedest to let him. so. ]
Okay, Florence Nightingale, I'm all yours. Just had to get that in before I forgot.
[ this is funny because as if he would ever forget how important kisses are!! speaking of, he stops blocking zetes' access to his bag of supplies as well as his hand, stepping back to hold it up between them. ]
no subject
zetes hums a soft, agreeable note as they break apart, smiling as his eyes open again. ]
I wouldn't let you forget. [ this a reassuring mumble before he drags his attention away from the shape of sebastian's mouth and finds the bag of supplies again. he grabs for it with one hand. ]
I should have bought a bonnet. Bet I'd look good in a bonnet. [ y'know, for the full florence nightingale effect.
more important than that though is the hand now held between them, torn and flecked in dried blood that would have made zetes' stomach turn when he was younger. he's become more accustomed to the sight of injuries now—all part of the job—but that doesn't mean he's grown any more comfortable with what marks and cuts and bruises mean. hurt of any kind doesn't get easier with time.
he takes sebastian's wrist delicately with one hand and starts to back him up towards the bed, aiming to sit him down on the edge so zetes doesn't have to actually reach up to do his healing. he's half tempted to say sebastian's mile long legs are a nuisance, but that feels like some form of blasphemy. maybe he'll just decide to take some satisfaction in sebastian's knees hitting the mattress instead. ]
Thanks for being a cooperative patient, sir. [ sincere if silly. it's possible he was a well-meaning nurse in another life. ]
no subject
[ as he backs up into the mattress and sits down, cooperatively, holding up his injured hand, cooperatively. the look he gives zetes is just shy of doe-eyed, effect increased by the unconscious tilt of his head. ]
And not at all like Laura Ingalls Wilder in drag.
[ maybe it's not the right place for a joke, at least not from him; sometimes he misjudges that, although usually not with zetes. he just wants to skip the part where they Talk about what was bothering him, because it's always something. it's always going to be something, unless someone invents a cure for psionic disorders. even then, despite all his yelling that he'd kick this out of his brain in a heartbeat, he doesn't really know if he would. it's part of him, and moreover it ties him and zetes together in a way nothing else would, and nobody else would understand.
he steers that train of thought directly off the tracks for the moment, reaching out deliberately for the shimmering edges of zetes' emotions, the murkier undercurrent of worry subsumed in the desire to care for him. it washes over him like - he can't help thinking this - sunlight breaking through clouds, and he lets his eyes close for a few seconds. apparently that's more important than whether or not his audience is receptive to his particular brand of humor.
like an echo of zetes' previous look, he smiles again when he opens his eyes. ]
Hey.
[ accompanying this with toeing zetes' ankle with a socked foot: ]
I love you. You know that, right?
[ this is i promise not to go anywhere in code, he's just. not going to say that out loud. ]