Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east

[plaguedrat]

The seventh day has come and gone. Despite others' reassurances that these things end, Rat's starting to despair he'll ever look his own age again. He'd gone to bed that night, still in the shape of his five-year-old self. The burns had still ached and sleep had been hard.

Drifting out of uneasy dreams, the first thing he notices is the lack of pain. Blinking his eyes open, Rat sees the hand that's half under the pillow. It's not a pudgy toddler's hand but that of an eighteen-year-old man. His own hands, his real body.

Rat sits up quickly, pleased that he doesn't have to stand gingerly. He swings long legs over the edge and stands up, hurrying to dress.

Comments

[plaguedrat]

It distracts him from his pursuit of food and Rat rocks back from where he's crouched in front of the fridge, eyes closed. He forgets to be protective, to flinch away to protect the scars, just lets Grey touch him.

"Take whatever you want," he says, gesturing at the food.

[silenttrainbaby]

Leaning over Rat, casted hand still on his back, Grey pulls out a random box and sets it on the counter to open it. What is that?

[plaguedrat]

"Potato salad...whatever that is," Rat says, thinking he's not sure he's encountered anything that looks like a salad.

[silenttrainbaby]

Reaching in, Grey picks up a chunk of something, smells it, and then tentatively tastes it.

It's not terrible.

[plaguedrat]

Rat finds two spoons and puts the container on the counter. "I'll get some stuff later. So I can cook."

It's for Grey, he tells himself, not for this city nor for himself. His attachments are to the other boy. That's how he'll justify it.

[silenttrainbaby]

So far for Grey, food as appeared from somewhere he couldn't see. It's a mystery. So when Rat says he'll cook, that's an abstract concept. He picks up his fork and he nods. Stabbing at the "potato salad," he takes another bite, naked hip leaned against the counter.

[plaguedrat]

It's something Rat can change from Grey, if he wants it. With a bite of food halfway to his mouth, he realizes he's staring at Grey and not doing a very good job of hiding it.

[silenttrainbaby]

What? Grey looks back, chewing his potato salad (though he's deciding quickly that he doesn't like it). He cocks his head. Is Rat all right?

[plaguedrat]

Aside from the sudden realization of the depth of is infatuation, Rat's fine. He leans over and cups Grey's chin for a kiss.

[silenttrainbaby]

That involves some quick swallowing and a clattering of the fork to the counter so that Grey can kiss him back, but he does. Because he wants to, because Rat's kisses most definitely taste better than potato salad, and make his belly feel tight, too.

[plaguedrat]

Rat laughs, leaning forward to press Grey's back against the counter and deepen the kiss. "If we keep doing this, I'm never going to be able to get us food."

[silenttrainbaby]

But Rat started it! Grey smiles though, in his own subdued way. He nips at Rat's mouth, fingers curled in the waistband of his shorts.

[plaguedrat]

Yes, he did. It's why Rat is laughing. The feel of Grey's fingers shoots across his skin, reminding him that he's the only one wearing any clothing. And that it's not much at all.

[silenttrainbaby]

It isn't. And it doesn't take much for Grey to slip his bandaged hand inside, knuckles brushing sensitive flesh.

[plaguedrat]

Rat hisses softly, rolling his hips up to Grey's touch. The hell with groceries. He can go out later.

[silenttrainbaby]

They are young and have all sorts of appetites. Resting his cheek, Grey watches his hand, the rough of the bandage, his own calloused fingers, as he strokes him. It makes his own body tight.

[plaguedrat]

He bites down on a groan and returns the kiss, cupping his hands around Grey's face. The taste of him from before only makes the fire burn higher under his skin. He presses against Grey, trying to match skin to skin, to feel him.

[silenttrainbaby]

Even if he's not being stimulated directly, Grey's breathing is ragged, need reasserting itself to make his mouth dry. He can't grip as tightly as he will when his hand is fully healed but he strokes nonethless.

[plaguedrat]

Kicking away his boxers, Rat cants his hips forward to rub against Grey. After a moment, he shifts a hand to wrap around them both, easing the pressure on Grey's hand. He keeps his eyes on Grey's, paying attention to his response.

[silenttrainbaby]

Oh. Grey rests his bandaged hand on Rat's shoulder, eyes locked on his face again. Oh. That feels good; his mouth falls open and already he can feel himself leaking.

[plaguedrat]

He keeps watching Grey intently, to make sure that what he's doing is wanted. Without words, the shared look means so much more. Bumping closer, he strokes again, thumbing at the head and smiling, very softly, at Grey.

[silenttrainbaby]

The softest choked sound comes out, Grey's face creased with pleasure. His casted hand hangs loosely at this side, but Grey fists his bandaged hand loosely in Rat's hair. His orgasm's a little further away this time, but not by much.

[plaguedrat]

He revels in that tiny sound and leans forward, claiming it with a hungry kiss. Rat squeezes a little, not planning to stop, just waiting.

[silenttrainbaby]

Panting into Rat's mouth, Grey's hips jerk. So close. Please? Oh, please. His toes are curled against the floor.

[plaguedrat]

Yes. Rat keeps touching, urging forward against him, wanting.