02 March 2012 @ 10:50 pm
[orison] sensing ellis  
 


Aidan hooks an arm around Ellis’s waist and the man presses closer out of habit, tilting his head to the side as he allows the hunter to press his face against the soft curve where neck and shoulder meet; he inhales Ellis’s scent. He smells clean, mild soaps and slightly floral shampoos, all in all very typically Ellis. Heavier scents would never suit him, so he uses gentle, unobtrusive ones that offend no one. Aidan runs his knuckles down Ellis’s spine, then brings the same hand up to cup the priest’s neck.

His skin cannot be likened to those flowery poetic words people use in those desperate, reaching romance novels. His skin is not silk or satin, but rather like soft, warm porcelain, pliant beneath his fingers with delicate veins spreading beneath flesh so fragile it might as well be paper. Instead of cracking when damaged, it leaves bruises, bright against his paleness, and while Aidan loves leaving his mark on this willing body, whenever he sees a new scar or bruise or cut, he wants to wipe it clean, rub it out and destroy whatever whoreson would dare mar such perfection. He notices the delicate blush of Ellis’s cheeks, the tremors that course over him. As for how he tastes, well, Aidan will happily keep some things to himself and bring them back up when he’s wishing for some familiar company.

Sensing Ellis… Well, it sounds stupid, but it is like nothing he has ever experienced. His voice caries every emotion he feels, and when it becomes guarded, Aidan knows that he is truly hurt, but when he is happy Aidan can hear all the joy in the world in only a few words, and it takes so very little to bring a smile to his face. His gentle eyes light up with all his misplaced hope in humanity. He can smile with those eyes as well as he can with his mouth, and oh, when he cries… But that heavy, lusty look he gets when they’re like this and Aidan can feel just how every fibre of his body wants him, and not the way everyone else has wanted him, for a good fuck, for his body, for his reputation, but actually for him as a human being and a friend and for anything and everything that Aidan is. God, Aidan could feed off of that look. Ellis has so many ways of saying everything with his eyes, and that isn’t even the extent of it. Aidan wonders sometimes what it is like to see from Ellis’s point of view. What is it like, to love every person he comes into contact with no matter how they wrong him? What does he see when he witnesses the cruelties he is exposed to daily, and how does he keep that gaze so gentle and pure when he has every reason not to?

…And what does he see, or what does he feel, when he looks at Aidan?