Bandom
[ Remember What You Started With (It Was Nothing At All] by dimmingdivine
Ian/Marshall.
There's something very beautiful about this fic, full of warmth and love even when things are going wrong. It's perfectly measured and paced, and the writing is lyrical.
Later, with streetlights flickering vaguely through the window and a dusky strip of sunrise creeping up from beneath the trees, Ian fusses stiffly and stretches ‘til he can rest his pillow on Marshall’s thighs, setting his head down gently so as to keep from waking him.
Ian is wide awake and uncomfortable, and kind of pissed that Singer had weaseled his way into the back when Sonny and Johnson got up to drive, and he envies the fact that Marshall has somehow drifted off as much as he kind of wishes Marshall was awake to keep him company. Maybe he's up after all, because Ian exhales a quiet sigh and then Marshall’s fingers are threaded loosely in his curls, working absently through the tangled strands. He whispers, “Shh, rest,” when Ian takes a breath to mumble gratefully (apologetically) into his knee.
Ian still can’t fall asleep, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t that much easier to close his eyes.
Ian/Marshall.
There's something very beautiful about this fic, full of warmth and love even when things are going wrong. It's perfectly measured and paced, and the writing is lyrical.
Later, with streetlights flickering vaguely through the window and a dusky strip of sunrise creeping up from beneath the trees, Ian fusses stiffly and stretches ‘til he can rest his pillow on Marshall’s thighs, setting his head down gently so as to keep from waking him.
Ian is wide awake and uncomfortable, and kind of pissed that Singer had weaseled his way into the back when Sonny and Johnson got up to drive, and he envies the fact that Marshall has somehow drifted off as much as he kind of wishes Marshall was awake to keep him company. Maybe he's up after all, because Ian exhales a quiet sigh and then Marshall’s fingers are threaded loosely in his curls, working absently through the tangled strands. He whispers, “Shh, rest,” when Ian takes a breath to mumble gratefully (apologetically) into his knee.
Ian still can’t fall asleep, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t that much easier to close his eyes.