[ Sitting with that for a moment, Marcus considers him. Makes order of his own feelings, which are potentially too mild in this moment to be of any use. Sympathy, a sharp burr of how what Jude has to say is familiar. Concern, for a person he cares about.
Well, all the same. He turns out a hand, palm up. An offering. ]
[Jude watches him, considering. For a beat too long, and then another. There are not a lot of times when Jude shows weakness; he tries to be steady, to be sure, to be dependable. But for a moment his eyes show a painful doubt.
He wants this to be true. It's painful to be reminded of just how much he lacks.
Affection and trust for Marcus wins out, along with Jude's natural inclination towards truth. He will have to know, eventually. He reaches out, lays his palm over Marcus', wrapping his big fingers around his and letting his eyes fall shut.
He reaches out with the senses that he's used on reflex all his life, straining for something, anything at all.]
[ The grip is returned, furl of fingers about the wrist as if preparing to pull him up from the ground or similar. No pressure, instead, just sitting, Marcus first studying Jude's face before lowering his attention down to their hands.
Focusing inwards. Jude hasn't asked him to do anything in particular, but it's an easy conclusion to draw, correct or incorrect, that a stronger nudge of feeling might be easier to sense. And it isn't as though such a summoning is a difficult one.
But in the interest in not broadcasting sorrow or rage, as powerful and noisy as those sensations might be, he turns his mind elsewhere. Thinks of them, the two people who've made a home for him here. For him, it is a series of images and sense-memories, a lazy early evening with the sound of shuffling pages as some report is being gone over and penned across while they occupy their bed. Delicate fingers, setting against the back of his neck while the other hand turns a page, and his own palm on someone's knee, some cosy tangle, in golden lamp light.
For Jude (maybe) (if this is a successful experiment) there is warmth, comfort, happiness. The faint bit of fear of something good that could scatter apart, but smothered under by a more self-satisfied pleasure of wanting a thing and having gotten it. ]
[Jude lets his eyes fall shut, and reaches out into the ocean of feeling around them. It is dark and cold. He focuses until he goes blind and deaf, concentrates only on the touch.
He knows to listen to the currents, the underground rivers, the flow of the world swirling around him. Forces that move only creatures like him.
It aches, like flexing a too-tight and under-used muscle.
But slowly, so slowly he is afraid to trust it, it comes to him. Dreamlike, fluttering over his skin. The evidence of a mind and heart that is not his own, but is connected. For him it is the sense of warmth. Of home. Of affection and comfortable yearning.
It's faint and he fears to push it, but the hunger wins out. He traces his metaphysical fingers along the threads that connect Marcus to the people he loves, thrumming those bonds, listening to the chords. It's faint at first, like music heard from underwater.
There are other threads too, stretching off into the darkness, faint little starlights in the gloom. He could follow and follow them but it's possible he may be lost on the way.
But it is enough.
Jude draws a deep breath like a swimmer coming up for air, and squeezes Marcus' hand in his, eyes still closed.]
Oh, damn.
[It is very soft, and the edge of his voice is not entirely steady.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Well, all the same. He turns out a hand, palm up. An offering. ]
Here.
no subject
He wants this to be true. It's painful to be reminded of just how much he lacks.
Affection and trust for Marcus wins out, along with Jude's natural inclination towards truth. He will have to know, eventually. He reaches out, lays his palm over Marcus', wrapping his big fingers around his and letting his eyes fall shut.
He reaches out with the senses that he's used on reflex all his life, straining for something, anything at all.]
no subject
Focusing inwards. Jude hasn't asked him to do anything in particular, but it's an easy conclusion to draw, correct or incorrect, that a stronger nudge of feeling might be easier to sense. And it isn't as though such a summoning is a difficult one.
But in the interest in not broadcasting sorrow or rage, as powerful and noisy as those sensations might be, he turns his mind elsewhere. Thinks of them, the two people who've made a home for him here. For him, it is a series of images and sense-memories, a lazy early evening with the sound of shuffling pages as some report is being gone over and penned across while they occupy their bed. Delicate fingers, setting against the back of his neck while the other hand turns a page, and his own palm on someone's knee, some cosy tangle, in golden lamp light.
For Jude (maybe) (if this is a successful experiment) there is warmth, comfort, happiness. The faint bit of fear of something good that could scatter apart, but smothered under by a more self-satisfied pleasure of wanting a thing and having gotten it. ]
no subject
He knows to listen to the currents, the underground rivers, the flow of the world swirling around him. Forces that move only creatures like him.
It aches, like flexing a too-tight and under-used muscle.
But slowly, so slowly he is afraid to trust it, it comes to him. Dreamlike, fluttering over his skin. The evidence of a mind and heart that is not his own, but is connected. For him it is the sense of warmth. Of home. Of affection and comfortable yearning.
It's faint and he fears to push it, but the hunger wins out. He traces his metaphysical fingers along the threads that connect Marcus to the people he loves, thrumming those bonds, listening to the chords. It's faint at first, like music heard from underwater.
There are other threads too, stretching off into the darkness, faint little starlights in the gloom. He could follow and follow them but it's possible he may be lost on the way.
But it is enough.
Jude draws a deep breath like a swimmer coming up for air, and squeezes Marcus' hand in his, eyes still closed.]
Oh, damn.
[It is very soft, and the edge of his voice is not entirely steady.]
There you are.