Notch: A Drabble


He's all tense under his fingers like a drawn bow, energy that spreads into him without a way out, and Pit thinks that, well, if he can be the one to help him let loose, voice and body and mind, then it's worth it.

And he knows it's kind of his fault, that he was made of his rage and his frustration and every longing he hid under his skin, and his fault for being away so long, and now he's drawn and every one of his muscles is quivering with unspent drives, ready to snap.

He slides his hands along his wings and back and arms instead, takes hold of him, lets him pour his aggression into their half-embrace, half-tumble, until he has him under him with his arms drawn back, and it's like he's hands and arrow all at once, both handler and target.

It's kind of dizzying, being trusted like that, because he trusts no one, but it feels much too natural to stop.