A panic rose in his chest as Greengrass began to shirt away, and he began replaying the thoughts that had haunted him—He doesn't need to hear this—He's going to be upset and not want to come back anymore—This is the last night you're going to spend with him and you're talking about her—but then Greengrass settled against his chest and he began to calm down.
He ran his hand along the side of Greengrass' body, trying to commit every curve of muscle, every dip in the flesh, every freckle and every blemish to memory, knowing that it would be another two weeks before he could physically look at the man, let alone have him in his bed.
"Are you alright?" he finally asked, tucking his arm around Greengrass' waist, holding him tighter. Greengrass hadn't yelled, hadn't fled, hadn't said anything to make him think he wasn't okay, but despite his attempts to reassure himself he knew he needed verbal confirmation.
He ran his hand along the side of Greengrass' body, trying to commit every curve of muscle, every dip in the flesh, every freckle and every blemish to memory, knowing that it would be another two weeks before he could physically look at the man, let alone have him in his bed.
"Are you alright?" he finally asked, tucking his arm around Greengrass' waist, holding him tighter. Greengrass hadn't yelled, hadn't fled, hadn't said anything to make him think he wasn't okay, but despite his attempts to reassure himself he knew he needed verbal confirmation.
