[ he gently scratches against logan's scalp, running his knuckles down his nape. as he does so, the stick figure lands on logan's knee, making itself comfortable, as if to watch logan whittle. ]
[ The yeses in Logan's head bleed away into satisfaction. He kisses back, free hand moving to grip the back of David's neck as soon as his claw's retracted. ]
You are, huh? [ It's muttered quietly into his mouth. ]
[ yeah, he asserts, mental voice warm and content as he kisses him again. he presses another to the bridge of logan's nose, then sits up a little to nuzzle into his temple.
on logan's knee, the stick figure shakes its head, then unfolds into a sliver of wood again, falling away. ]
[ fascinated, david peers down at the emerging flute, hands sliding over logan's shoulders and into the neck of his shirt, flattening against his upper chest. ]
Do you know how to play?
[ a kiss to his ear, teeth catching briefly at the curve. ]
[ Having succeeded in the grooves of the outside, Logan's claw is given up in favour of a smaller, more precise knife to hollow the insides out. ]
Hell, [ he's breathing easy into David's touch, tilting his head a bit into the feel of lips on his skin ] if I didn't heal, I'd be deaf by now from practising.
[ he laughs a little, fingers flexing, gently curling against bare skin. ]
My adoptive mom tried to make me learn piano. She gave up pretty quickly, though. [ no musical talent. none. he also can't carry a tune in a five-gallon bucket. (it doesn't stop him from singing in the shower and/or bath.) ]
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[ A long shaving is cut off. Logan holds the curl up for David to inspect. ]
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Mm.. [ a grin as he plucks the sliver out of logan's fingers. ] Blow.
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Bubbles.
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Bath.
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Uh. [ It's always so fascinating. ] Fancy.
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Party.
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Pop.
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Mmmusic?
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[ The shiver is felt, so Logan shifts, nuzzles the side of David's knee. The low sound continues.
He flicks another bit of wood out. ]
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on logan's knee, the little figure taps him as if to tell them both to behave. ]
Uh, mountain.
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He huffs, more of a laugh than petulant, and keeps his temple still against David's knee. ]
Hill.
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[ he presses his ankle against logan's hip, hand sliding down from the other man's nape, tracing the top few bumps of his spine beneath his shirt. ]
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Cute.
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Yours.
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But he manages a growled: ] Happy.
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You are, huh? [ It's muttered quietly into his mouth. ]
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on logan's knee, the stick figure shakes its head, then unfolds into a sliver of wood again, falling away. ]
I love you. What're you making?
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He's forgotten for a moment. ]
It. [ A laugh. ] A flute.
I can make other things. [ His claws pushes out again so he can work on shaving more. ] And.
I love you, too.
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Do you know how to play?
[ a kiss to his ear, teeth catching briefly at the curve. ]
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[ Having succeeded in the grooves of the outside, Logan's claw is given up in favour of a smaller, more precise knife to hollow the insides out. ]
Hell, [ he's breathing easy into David's touch, tilting his head a bit into the feel of lips on his skin ] if I didn't heal, I'd be deaf by now from practising.
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My adoptive mom tried to make me learn piano. She gave up pretty quickly, though. [ no musical talent. none. he also can't carry a tune in a five-gallon bucket. (it doesn't stop him from singing in the shower and/or bath.) ]
I feel like you're more of a guitar man, anyway.
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