[ Slowly, the heel of his palms digs into the cot, pushing himself upright and back, enough to feel the weight and warmth of York's frame behind him. There's no point of focus now, just feeling whatever fades in. It burns, stings, it pinches and throbs, and then those fingers will push deep and send it all fracturing apart again.
His jaw has gone slightly slack as he pants, fingers still lingering at the edge of the cot, ready to curl down tight again. Whatever comes, he knows it's going to be good, in one form or another. ]
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His jaw has gone slightly slack as he pants, fingers still lingering at the edge of the cot, ready to curl down tight again. Whatever comes, he knows it's going to be good, in one form or another. ]