[He listens, watching as the sun begins to crest the rim of the sky in threads of pink, attention rapt on the display of brilliant colors. It never looked anything like this on Mars. He's used to pale muted blues, not this bleed of red and tangerine and colors he's never seen in this context. The morning is perfect, almost cloudless. Only the slightest dewey fog still lingers.]
Mm. Wish I could see your room. [Cain's voice touches a bit of suggestion, against better judgment, nosing up against the curve of Abel's ear where it rests nearby.] I'd climb right under the sheets.
[Maybe not for the most innocent of intentions, but there's more to even that. He wonders if the fabric of the pillowcase would smell like him.]
no subject
Mm. Wish I could see your room. [Cain's voice touches a bit of suggestion, against better judgment, nosing up against the curve of Abel's ear where it rests nearby.] I'd climb right under the sheets.
[Maybe not for the most innocent of intentions, but there's more to even that. He wonders if the fabric of the pillowcase would smell like him.]