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    Summary

    Qifrey tries to catalogue all of the places they touch, reminding himself that the contact is no longer dangerous. Olly’s nose is slotted against his temple, fingers having moved from between his shoulders to the base of his head. There’s a slight tickle where the hair on his chin brushes against Qifrey’s cheek. The other arm is wrapped loosely around his middle, squeezing against his tunic. Their legs aren’t exactly tangled, but he can feel Olruggio’s calf against his own, a bony knee against his thigh, and the press of something warm and firm against his hip. His own body is an unfortunate mirror, the hour still early and the closeness still unfamiliar.

    -

    or; how does a man who has only ever deprived himself of wanting allow himself to lust?

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