[ When the stranger slips Dylan's hat off, there's the smallest brush of the stranger's glove against his temple. Dylan stills at the contact. He quietly hopes those fingers will brush him again, that they'll linger, that they'll tangle in his hair and gently drag along his scalp.
But that contact never comes. And he's — he's disappointed. Like he'd been waiting for it his whole life, despite not wanting it until a moment ago. He almost voices it, too, thanks to the white chocolate, but the thought is interrupted by the feel of the stranger's hand against the curve of his lower back.
The polite contact feels new and electrifying. It's as if he's never been touched before, which is ridiculous; He's been hugged before, and struck, and grabbed and carried. He's even held someone close before, as he once huddled with Normie in a storage closet in fear of Carnage bursting through the door.
But there's no danger here. This isn't a desperate grab for comfort, it's just... comfortable. Dylan squeezes the stranger's hand, and carefully brings the other hand up to his shoulder.
They're a little clumsy at first, trying to move in sync with the music together, but Dylan's partner moves with intent that Dylan is able to quickly find a flow with him. And with gentle guiding from their clasped hands, every turn is signaled early. Soon, Dylan is following with ease.
He had... imagined this going differently. In his fantasies, he'd always been the one leading, the dashing hero sweeping someone off their feet. But... he didn't hate this.
In fact, looking up into the mask into features he could see, but couldn't quite identify, Dylan realized he really liked this.
Dylan's whole life, letting someone else take the lead always meant relinquishing freedom in some way. He'd be dragged to church, or shut away in a bunker, or left alone in an apartment for weeks. Taking whatever control he could was the only way he could ensure he wouldn't be abandoned... or forgotten.
Yet here, letting the stranger take the lead in a slow dance, Dylan has no fear of abandonment. Even if it's just a dance with a stranger, he feels wanted and valued, like he's contributing just as much to this one night they're sharing.
When the twirl comes, Dylan is able to keep pace, but he's caught by surprise when he's pulled in close. Chest-to-chest, Dylan can feel a hammering against his ribcage, but can't identify if it's his own heart or his partner's.
Looking into the red mask, Dylan can see his partner's eyes, he knows the color, but somehow can't put it to words or commit it to memory. It's magic, he's certain of it, that's the sort of thing Loki could do.
When his partner speaks, so soft and close, Dylan can't suppress a pleasurable shiver. ]
Yeah.
[ It's all he can think to say. There's so much he's feeling, but he has no idea how to articulate it. Instead, he inhales deeply, taking in his partner's scent — it's not quite sweat, not quite cologne, just... human, and until that moment, Dylan had never imagined another person could smell so nice.
He releases the breath in a long, contented sigh, and leans a little more into his partner's embrace. If the mask hadn't been in the way, he might have rested his face in the curve of his partner's neck, but that's not possible at the moment. Instead, Dylan just squeezes his hand. ]
I... I really like this.
[ Dumb, dumb, that was the dumbest thing to say. But thinking is hard right now. He just... wants to feel. Feel the chest against his, the hand on the curve of his spine. He wants to feel more, be wrapped up in him on all sides, safe, wanted, valued, and —
— and loved?
That last one was ridiculous. They barely knew each other. They didn't even know each other's names. But here, caught up in the fantasy of the moment, he can let himself pretend. ]
Careful, though.
[ Dylan leans in a little closer, bringing his lips inches away from his partner's ear. ]
no subject
But that contact never comes. And he's — he's disappointed. Like he'd been waiting for it his whole life, despite not wanting it until a moment ago. He almost voices it, too, thanks to the white chocolate, but the thought is interrupted by the feel of the stranger's hand against the curve of his lower back.
The polite contact feels new and electrifying. It's as if he's never been touched before, which is ridiculous; He's been hugged before, and struck, and grabbed and carried. He's even held someone close before, as he once huddled with Normie in a storage closet in fear of Carnage bursting through the door.
But there's no danger here. This isn't a desperate grab for comfort, it's just... comfortable. Dylan squeezes the stranger's hand, and carefully brings the other hand up to his shoulder.
They're a little clumsy at first, trying to move in sync with the music together, but Dylan's partner moves with intent that Dylan is able to quickly find a flow with him. And with gentle guiding from their clasped hands, every turn is signaled early. Soon, Dylan is following with ease.
He had... imagined this going differently. In his fantasies, he'd always been the one leading, the dashing hero sweeping someone off their feet. But... he didn't hate this.
In fact, looking up into the mask into features he could see, but couldn't quite identify, Dylan realized he really liked this.
Dylan's whole life, letting someone else take the lead always meant relinquishing freedom in some way. He'd be dragged to church, or shut away in a bunker, or left alone in an apartment for weeks. Taking whatever control he could was the only way he could ensure he wouldn't be abandoned... or forgotten.
Yet here, letting the stranger take the lead in a slow dance, Dylan has no fear of abandonment. Even if it's just a dance with a stranger, he feels wanted and valued, like he's contributing just as much to this one night they're sharing.
When the twirl comes, Dylan is able to keep pace, but he's caught by surprise when he's pulled in close. Chest-to-chest, Dylan can feel a hammering against his ribcage, but can't identify if it's his own heart or his partner's.
Looking into the red mask, Dylan can see his partner's eyes, he knows the color, but somehow can't put it to words or commit it to memory. It's magic, he's certain of it, that's the sort of thing Loki could do.
When his partner speaks, so soft and close, Dylan can't suppress a pleasurable shiver. ]
Yeah.
[ It's all he can think to say. There's so much he's feeling, but he has no idea how to articulate it. Instead, he inhales deeply, taking in his partner's scent — it's not quite sweat, not quite cologne, just... human, and until that moment, Dylan had never imagined another person could smell so nice.
He releases the breath in a long, contented sigh, and leans a little more into his partner's embrace. If the mask hadn't been in the way, he might have rested his face in the curve of his partner's neck, but that's not possible at the moment. Instead, Dylan just squeezes his hand. ]
I... I really like this.
[ Dumb, dumb, that was the dumbest thing to say. But thinking is hard right now. He just... wants to feel. Feel the chest against his, the hand on the curve of his spine. He wants to feel more, be wrapped up in him on all sides, safe, wanted, valued, and —
— and loved?
That last one was ridiculous. They barely knew each other. They didn't even know each other's names. But here, caught up in the fantasy of the moment, he can let himself pretend. ]
Careful, though.
[ Dylan leans in a little closer, bringing his lips inches away from his partner's ear. ]
I could do this all night if you let me.