[ miles catch-all: one-way train to crazy town ]

[forwardmomentum]

Who: Miles & company
When: March...ish. all of March. there u go
Where: assorted locations, mostly on the Moira
What: Miles's no good very bad brains month
Warnings: general mental illness, trauma/PTSD, discussion of sexual assault



starters go below, post one if ya feel like it or let me know if I should write one

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[forwardmomentum]

So write me an IOU.

[ miles presses his face to bel's hair, pressing kisses into it as he wriggles his toes in one boot. yeah, those should come off. he braces his toe against the heel of the other foot and starts to shuck his boots off, with bel's assistance, and the second they're off he tugs bel back up, half to kiss him and half so they can tumble back onto the bed together in a warm tangle of limbs. ]

[hellsbel]

I'll write you something -- [which barely even makes sense, damn, should've gone with 'you don't need more paperwork' -- but Bel's busy, fumbling the boots off blindly with one hand. the other wanders across Miles's back and shoulders, closing over his hip with a low, heartfelt moan at the unbearable tenderness of his lips pressed to their hair.

he sweeps them away so easily, always has, in or out of the bedroom. head tipping back, Bel meets his eyes to see how all of it looks on him, then leans up with what he's seeking and kisses him all the way back to the pillows.

Bel's own boots are already gone as well, who knows where; they're still both wearing too many layers to sleep comfortably, much less anything else, but this is supposed to relax Miles, not key him up any further. it feels desperately good to arch lazily against him, mouth skimming down his throat, a hand working under his tunic in a slow gliding arc to knead the tension away.]

[forwardmomentum]

[ miles squirms and sighs happily, grinning helplessly as bel kisses down his throat. a breathless laugh escapes him and he combs his hand absently through bel's hair, just pleased to feel how soft it is in his fingers. but their hand under his tunic is distracting, warm fingers on his skin -- a little massage wouldn't be out of order, with how horribly tense he's been lately, a spring wound far too tight, liable to snap right in half if he doesn't unwind a little.

this is most definitely the most enjoyable few minutes he's had in a bed in a while -- no restless tossing, no trepidation at falling asleep or bolting up in a cold sweat trying to catch his breath -- just cool sheets and a warm body against his. a very nice and attractive warm body, in fact, attached to a person miles is quite fond of. he skims a hand down bel's back, fingers tracing absent patterns before he thumbs under their uniform top contemplatively. ]