Puck has spent five years growing accustomed to Havelock's moods, his expressions in all their scarcely-tangible vicissitudes, and so perhaps he fares better than he might in knowing when Havelock is troubled now. The shadowed look in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders and his jaw, as if his teeth were a trap he is determined not to let spring shut.
It's at times like these that Puck knows to break out the gossamer.
... Gossamer, if you were not aware, has quite a strength to it, particularly when its strands are spun thickly enough to make a proper rope. Puck finds it quite a fitting use for Margolotta's cobwebs.
Havelock yields to the binding well enough-- it has long been a game between them, one among any number of others, but now of course there is call for it more pressing than there ever was before. Puck leans close and places a kiss to Havelock's shoulder, the skin paler and tenser underneath-- sometimes Havelock will strain or lunge or give a reflexive snap, but there is almost a relief in it, a release. (He seems a little embarrassed by it all the same, and Puck never mentions it afterwards even in passing.)
"Shhhh, shhh," he whispers, lips closing soft and wet over the shell of Havelock's ear and slender fingers stroking through his hair.
"Still, my heart."
He will be careful how he touches him, how he permits himself to lie tangled up beside him afterwards. Puck used to imagine that the lee of Havelock's body was the only harbor he could require-- but he must admit that this notion, like so many of his others, was doomed to shipwreck from the start.
Still, he is in love. There is little helping that.
Puck has spent five years growing accustomed to Havelock's moods, his expressions in all their scarcely-tangible vicissitudes, and so perhaps he fares better than he might in knowing when Havelock is troubled now. The shadowed look in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders and his jaw, as if his teeth were a trap he is determined not to let spring shut.
It's at times like these that Puck knows to break out the gossamer.
... Gossamer, if you were not aware, has quite a strength to it, particularly when its strands are spun thickly enough to make a proper rope. Puck finds it quite a fitting use for Margolotta's cobwebs.
Havelock yields to the binding well enough-- it has long been a game between them, one among any number of others, but now of course there is call for it more pressing than there ever was before. Puck leans close and places a kiss to Havelock's shoulder, the skin paler and tenser underneath-- sometimes Havelock will strain or lunge or give a reflexive snap, but there is almost a relief in it, a release. (He seems a little embarrassed by it all the same, and Puck never mentions it afterwards even in passing.)
"Shhhh, shhh," he whispers, lips closing soft and wet over the shell of Havelock's ear and slender fingers stroking through his hair.
"Still, my heart."
He will be careful how he touches him, how he permits himself to lie tangled up beside him afterwards. Puck used to imagine that the lee of Havelock's body was the only harbor he could require-- but he must admit that this notion, like so many of his others, was doomed to shipwreck from the start.
Still, he is in love. There is little helping that.
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