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Summary
lips press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. searing, hot, accendium. subspace's palms are pressed onto medkit's chest, pushing the air out of him. medkit wriggles, the sheets on his back scratching the skin of his nape and shifting in accordance to the friction he causes.
"you look awful," subspace observes, grinning.
wondering outloud, medkit asks, "do i?"
when work is so stressful you find yourself in bed with your only option, which is also the worst option.
Series
- Part 2 of medkit/subspace-centric oneshots
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,227
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 11
- Hits:
- 131
Recent series
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- Words:
- 1,943
- Works:
- 2

