Re: Log: Seven/Liam
A man with greater patience, a softer presence there in the apartment, might not have flinched as Liam reached out to snatch the sheet from the printer's ream of white paper. Might not have felt the sharp, cold shock of that sudden movement within the extension of his limbs, or the unceremonious tug that it reflected in his organs. Out of the corner of the eye, he could sense - sense more than see, yeah - that Liam's head had turned, that the man was drinking in the sight of him like a dying man in the desert's oasis, fucking desperate for hydration.
And then it was a greater shock to his system, ripple of electric agony that brought Seven's shoulders practically up to his ears as he heard first syllable of that name in the other man's mouth, rent apart only by teeth that clattered like tuneless ivory. His first instinct was to reach out, towards the sudden flux of emotion on Liam's face. Desperate to comfort and claim, and aching to trap the shape of thin wrists in his grasp.
"Liam," he started, voice rough, carved out of old stone and hitching in the back of his throat as the other fell to the floor with his head cradled desperately, and white flutter of wings like a Faraday cage around his crouched form. A step forward slipped him into a kneel, just in front of Liam, and his eyes felt wet in his face, and he was reaching with both hands under the violent shelter of those wings. He moved slow, and cautious. Trying not to spook an animal that was both wild and terrified. He pulled in a breath as he pressed each palm against the rounded slopes of Liam's shoulders, and whispered hoarsely like it was real benedictions. "Liam, it's alright. It's me. I'm not going to hurt you. Okay?"