you're paralyzing me, any

[isakov]

throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

How strange it is to feel so empty when he is not touching him. When he is not curled sweetly around him. When he is not softly breathing the dark things he swears he can smell of Sleaze’s skin. It makes him tremble, just enough to disturb the surface of the water, and he makes no effort to hide it.

He wants Sleaze to see it. He wants to say, ‘look what you have done to me, isn’t it remarkable?’ But he says nothing and listens instead. Listens with some breathless wonder and imagines what it might be like to die. Or, even more than that, to die and then to come back.

He studies the stallion’s dark face and cannot ignore the fish hook in his chest. He cannot ignore the mournful sound his heart makes and closes up the distance between them again, ducks his star-dappled head to lay it against Sleaze’s shoulder. Closes his eyes and releases a long, shuddering breath, as if the gesture could bring either of them any comfort.

He has never had his motives questioned, Isakov. And he blinks open those pale gold eyes but does not lift his head. It stings somewhere deep in his chest but he will not let it turn him cold.

“Because you are kind,” he murmurs, “because you are good. I can smell it on your skin.”

isakov

@[sleaze]