The skin under his fingers was warm, smooth and hard, the kind of skin that he might have identified as someone who was fit and strong, but it wasn't why he continued to dare leave his only arm in such an vulnerable position. There was a strange and almost foreign comfort in such simple touch, the act of giving in the same moment of receiving it. It also carried with it a sense of certain rightness that he couldn't remember experiencing, though he must have at some point. It was a relief to know something familiar like that again, basking in this strange attention with a man who he didn't even know the name of. Did they even have names in this place or were they just nothing?
His fingers slowly smoothed up the ridges of muscles of the blond's back, caressing and offering what little comfort that he could find. His finger tips ran across areas where he suspected something healing was there like a scab or tender new skin. For some reason, despite his disorientation, those injuries required his attention, his soft touch more than anywhere else, soothing away the hurt with a promise of something better, warmer, and far more well-earned than the violence that had created the hurt in the first place.
His head dipped towards the bars, feeling the tug of fingers along his hair and he drew his knees more towards his chest more for warmth than to protect any sense of modesty. He drooped his head to allow the touch to his neck, eyes closing momentarily before the tension was back at the mention of his arm, and he turned his head to his left as if seeing the fact that he was missing part of himself for the first time.
Old hurts ambushed him at the sight of the bandages, and he hissed softly, crawling more against the bars as if pressing more would allow him to escape he loss that he had suffered or perhaps the foggy memories of the pain that was ready to pounce if he thought too hard about it. "...gone..." he whispered hoarsely back. "I'm in pieces. They take it all away in pieces...."
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His fingers slowly smoothed up the ridges of muscles of the blond's back, caressing and offering what little comfort that he could find. His finger tips ran across areas where he suspected something healing was there like a scab or tender new skin. For some reason, despite his disorientation, those injuries required his attention, his soft touch more than anywhere else, soothing away the hurt with a promise of something better, warmer, and far more well-earned than the violence that had created the hurt in the first place.
His head dipped towards the bars, feeling the tug of fingers along his hair and he drew his knees more towards his chest more for warmth than to protect any sense of modesty. He drooped his head to allow the touch to his neck, eyes closing momentarily before the tension was back at the mention of his arm, and he turned his head to his left as if seeing the fact that he was missing part of himself for the first time.
Old hurts ambushed him at the sight of the bandages, and he hissed softly, crawling more against the bars as if pressing more would allow him to escape he loss that he had suffered or perhaps the foggy memories of the pain that was ready to pounce if he thought too hard about it. "...gone..." he whispered hoarsely back. "I'm in pieces. They take it all away in pieces...."