[ There was a time when he hungered to feel his touch against the very rim of his ear - just where he heard it, nearly more than felt. He once thought there would be a lifetime of it.
Godfrey stiffens against the warm shiver running down his spine, spreading into the hollows of his shoulders. His jaw pulls tight. Never again. Gale had already found this crack once before - he wouldn't manipulate him so easily again. It's healed now - and it's much easier to feel him trying to nose into a bruise than it was to slip into that crack, to worm his way beneath his skin seamlessly. Like a parasite. Never again. He couldn't do it again.
The buckle at the base of his skull flops against the back of his neck, jingles faintly. His tied hair flaps over the strap as it's pulled from his head, the cool air plush against his face. Godfrey's shoulders rise with a reflexive, immediate breath of fresh air. Though he tries to hide it, he hardly needs to give away to Gale just what a relief he's provided; the padding is thick and unrelenting within the shell of the muzzle, damp and hot with condensed breath and prayer.
It even shows on his face. The muzzle has left faint, blushing red pits on his skin; running across each cheekbone, turning straight into his blond hair, cutting two parallel ditches around each side of his noble nose. Flaring at his nostrils, irritated by the chafing movement of his stream of prayer.
Godfrey watches him in silence, exhaling his first unrestricted breath. And he says nothing.
Perhaps Gale wouldn't speak while he had that thing on.
no subject
Godfrey stiffens against the warm shiver running down his spine, spreading into the hollows of his shoulders. His jaw pulls tight. Never again. Gale had already found this crack once before - he wouldn't manipulate him so easily again. It's healed now - and it's much easier to feel him trying to nose into a bruise than it was to slip into that crack, to worm his way beneath his skin seamlessly. Like a parasite. Never again. He couldn't do it again.
The buckle at the base of his skull flops against the back of his neck, jingles faintly. His tied hair flaps over the strap as it's pulled from his head, the cool air plush against his face. Godfrey's shoulders rise with a reflexive, immediate breath of fresh air. Though he tries to hide it, he hardly needs to give away to Gale just what a relief he's provided; the padding is thick and unrelenting within the shell of the muzzle, damp and hot with condensed breath and prayer.
It even shows on his face. The muzzle has left faint, blushing red pits on his skin; running across each cheekbone, turning straight into his blond hair, cutting two parallel ditches around each side of his noble nose. Flaring at his nostrils, irritated by the chafing movement of his stream of prayer.
Godfrey watches him in silence, exhaling his first unrestricted breath. And he says nothing.
Perhaps Gale wouldn't speak while he had that thing on.
Godfrey resolves not to speak regardless. ]