[ Caleb leans back. He lets Fjord take his weight, the taste of beer still thick on his tongue. And before he can really process it, Molly has crawled across to take her place straddled across his lap, tail curling around his thigh.
With his body no longer running on empty, and with the reassurance of his friends--Molly's compliment(?) makes him laugh softly--it's easier to concentrate on what else might be bothering him.
He breathes. It's a deep, deep breath in and a slow exhale, a great sigh that finally dispels some of the tension Caleb holds himself with as he just burrows his face between Molly's neck and shoulder, soft fabric against his cheek and infernally heated skin against his nose. She's warm and soft, and--she, definitely; it's been difficult to avoid catching a glimpse of the new breasts she's so proud of, and now here they are pressed against him through the layer of her sweatshirt. Somehow it manages to be more comforting than erotic. He curls his arms around her waist, tugging her further into his lap so that he can absorb her warmth while leaning back against Fjord, into the wonderful strength of his arms and the satisfying bulk of his form.
Something clicks into place. Oh. He's missed this. In so many ways, he's missed this. Missed the two of them, Fjord and Molly, being here, being loved in a way that is uncomplicated compared to just about everything else. Missed this particular feeling, too; holding and being held all at once, a configuration of three that had once meant comfort and safety, that had been the blueprint for how he still views relationships and intimacy.
It's a lot to process all at once. ]
I have no idea what I am doing.
[ The words are muffled against Molly's skin, tired and exasperated. ]
With Essek, with anyone else, with anything here--verdammt. How have you managed to make this work?
no subject
With his body no longer running on empty, and with the reassurance of his friends--Molly's compliment(?) makes him laugh softly--it's easier to concentrate on what else might be bothering him.
He breathes. It's a deep, deep breath in and a slow exhale, a great sigh that finally dispels some of the tension Caleb holds himself with as he just burrows his face between Molly's neck and shoulder, soft fabric against his cheek and infernally heated skin against his nose. She's warm and soft, and--she, definitely; it's been difficult to avoid catching a glimpse of the new breasts she's so proud of, and now here they are pressed against him through the layer of her sweatshirt. Somehow it manages to be more comforting than erotic. He curls his arms around her waist, tugging her further into his lap so that he can absorb her warmth while leaning back against Fjord, into the wonderful strength of his arms and the satisfying bulk of his form.
Something clicks into place. Oh. He's missed this. In so many ways, he's missed this. Missed the two of them, Fjord and Molly, being here, being loved in a way that is uncomplicated compared to just about everything else. Missed this particular feeling, too; holding and being held all at once, a configuration of three that had once meant comfort and safety, that had been the blueprint for how he still views relationships and intimacy.
It's a lot to process all at once. ]
I have no idea what I am doing.
[ The words are muffled against Molly's skin, tired and exasperated. ]
With Essek, with anyone else, with anything here--verdammt. How have you managed to make this work?