Ford hadn't been expecting that; he hadn't even been looking at Tycho while he crossed the room towards his wand, except peripherally. Then suddenly Ty was right in front of him, and despite his best effort he couldn't stop before they'd made contact. It was barely even contact at all — just a brush — but oh. Ford inhaled sharply and froze where he was, except for a shiver that ran through him. He shut his eyes and kept them shut, half from anger and half from longing. It wasn't fair of Tycho to do this. It wasn't fair to show up without warning, to be having an experience alone they'd shared so often together, and especially wasn't fair for Ty to kiss him.
(He remembered this, the shape of Ty's lips, the feeling of them against his, even if they weren't really there this time).
Touch me, he nearly pleaded. His imagination had sprung to life at the brush of Tycho's lips, just as his body had. He could practically feel Ty's hands on him already. It would have been so easy to give in to this, to lean forward and let it happen. How much time had he spent since they'd parted ways craving this? But there was a reason he'd never acted on it, multiple reasons, and none of them had changed just because Tycho was here and it would be easy to give in. And he was doing his best to be a good husband, not just a husband. Inauspicious circumstances be damned, he was trying his best — he'd been attentive and tender on their honeymoon, and he was practically burning his family to the ground for the sake of his wife's future happiness, and he had not been intending to run off having affairs behind her back — but he hadn't anticipated Tycho showing up in his room on spiritus sancti and kissing him.
"Fuck this," he said, opening his eyes and taking half a step back. Tycho was still right there, and now Ford's whole body was thrumming with need. "Fuck you for this," he added, because nothing he felt in his chest or his gut or anywhere else could cancel out the sense of betrayal, that Tycho had showed up here and inflicted this on them both. But in spite of that, he still found himself reaching for Ty's lapel. Ford couldn't actually grab onto him when he was in this state but he pressed his hand up flat against Ty's chest, felt the familiar thrum of contact. It always felt so raw, like you were touching something below the skin. He couldn't have forgotten this sensation even he'd never seen spiritus sancti again for the rest of his life.
He sighed involuntarily — maybe it was more like panting — and threw his lips back against Tycho's.
(He remembered this, the shape of Ty's lips, the feeling of them against his, even if they weren't really there this time).
Touch me, he nearly pleaded. His imagination had sprung to life at the brush of Tycho's lips, just as his body had. He could practically feel Ty's hands on him already. It would have been so easy to give in to this, to lean forward and let it happen. How much time had he spent since they'd parted ways craving this? But there was a reason he'd never acted on it, multiple reasons, and none of them had changed just because Tycho was here and it would be easy to give in. And he was doing his best to be a good husband, not just a husband. Inauspicious circumstances be damned, he was trying his best — he'd been attentive and tender on their honeymoon, and he was practically burning his family to the ground for the sake of his wife's future happiness, and he had not been intending to run off having affairs behind her back — but he hadn't anticipated Tycho showing up in his room on spiritus sancti and kissing him.
"Fuck this," he said, opening his eyes and taking half a step back. Tycho was still right there, and now Ford's whole body was thrumming with need. "Fuck you for this," he added, because nothing he felt in his chest or his gut or anywhere else could cancel out the sense of betrayal, that Tycho had showed up here and inflicted this on them both. But in spite of that, he still found himself reaching for Ty's lapel. Ford couldn't actually grab onto him when he was in this state but he pressed his hand up flat against Ty's chest, felt the familiar thrum of contact. It always felt so raw, like you were touching something below the skin. He couldn't have forgotten this sensation even he'd never seen spiritus sancti again for the rest of his life.
He sighed involuntarily — maybe it was more like panting — and threw his lips back against Tycho's.
Set by Lady!