[ breathing in deep, max's chest pushes out, against tristan's palm on his skin, rising up to meet him, and the exhale is a sweet, soft, sigh, like sinking into the water at a hot spring. relaxing, relieving, refreshing. magic prickles in his cells, singing out against the confines of his body and slinking forward to tangle with tristan's, meeting together with familiar energy and singing out. it feels a little like being high, a buzzing all over his body, but not so muddled. crisp, clean. ]
Welcome back. We have a lot of time to make up for.
[ not that they weren't able to do little magic tricks together before, but tristan's had been so muted. so much of things like this - the sort of full body thrill of it - wasn't easy.
pulling tris in as he wraps his arm around him, max's lips press here and there almost unconsciously, just showering affection on him, while tugging him close, pressed flush to his chest and settled heavily in his lap. with the blanket tucked around their shoulders still, it's easy to fill the small space with magical heat, have it flow out like a clean fog and fill up all the spaces between them. the demonic roughness and darkness of his magic stretches out towards the brilliant heavenly in tristan's, like seeking out both an old friend and old enemy. either way, it leaves the strands of them - their magic, their spirits - all tangled uptight, moving together like kelp under the sea surface, strung together tight. ]
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Welcome back. We have a lot of time to make up for.
[ not that they weren't able to do little magic tricks together before, but tristan's had been so muted. so much of things like this - the sort of full body thrill of it - wasn't easy.
pulling tris in as he wraps his arm around him, max's lips press here and there almost unconsciously, just showering affection on him, while tugging him close, pressed flush to his chest and settled heavily in his lap. with the blanket tucked around their shoulders still, it's easy to fill the small space with magical heat, have it flow out like a clean fog and fill up all the spaces between them. the demonic roughness and darkness of his magic stretches out towards the brilliant heavenly in tristan's, like seeking out both an old friend and old enemy. either way, it leaves the strands of them - their magic, their spirits - all tangled uptight, moving together like kelp under the sea surface, strung together tight. ]