The sight of Wes tinkering with all those things laid out before him puts a smile on Logan's face. "It smells like something... or somewhere I should remember," he mumbles. His eyes narrow as he reaches into the annals of his memory and comes closer, sniffing the air over that table of ingredients. "Some place relaxing."
His hands rest on Wes' shoulders as he watches the man work, but ultimately he shakes his head. I can't remember. But I like it. That smell.
Maybe without even realizing it, Wes has not always been the most empathetic of what it's like for a man to have so little access to his memories. It's not the first time he's heard from Logan that something strikes familiar in a way he just can't grasp, but the past few weeks have put that consideration into a brand new light. More than ever before, he can relate to the frustration and the desperate grasp of knowing that something is lurking out there, just beyond the reach of his mind.
In the stillness as they both breathe in, Wes reaches up and threads his fingers into Logan's. He tugs the man's arms down, urging him a step closer and configuring them into a brief hug that puts his back at the man's chest. Then, he lets go and turns to face his partner more completely.
Not yet, he admits. I don't want to tell Jean-Paul, in case it's all wrong. As with so many things around them, what could be beneficial might also end up dangerously harmful in the wrong doses.
When the anxiety of not knowing what lies before you, also likes behind you, it creates a sort of hyper-vigilance that Logan's never been able to shake. Still, it rarely seems worth the time, to him, to let himself sit in that discomfort and fear of such intangible things when there are real, tangible people all around him who could benefit from immediate help.
As such, things for Logan are never a problem. Until his problems catch up with him.
But here in this cabin, in the quiet after October, those things seem miles away for a change.
What do you mean, all wrong? he asks. Like in case it doesn't work? He squeezes Wes against his chest until the man wants to turn to him.
You wanna try it out on me? I don't mind. I like the smell. Makes me sleepy.
In case the amounts aren't right, Wes clarifies. If it doesn't work, that's okay. I just don't want it to have the opposite effect. Even the plants he feels familiar with are a gamble in this place that can bastardize anything more quickly than any of them can anticipate. It's the same with everything that Wes has created thus far, though in times past he has more often used himself as guinea pig. Mishaps have been fortunately few -- particularly since the inclusion of what little magic he knows have helped -- but this seems too important a prospect to leave to chance.
For a long moment, Wes lets the admission hang in the air and waits. He doesn't expect that Logan will revise his position. If anything, he expects the man might be even more insistent to be used in that manner. But with all that's happened between them, it seems unfair not to warn him, and even more cruel to simply expect that he would be willing.
If the scent is any indication, he hopes he has it right. Are you sure? Wes asks anyway. Any part of you that aches? He knows his partner doesn't bear his scars visibly, but any site of pain could only be better for the test.
While it's true, there's nothing about Wes' warning that's apt to discourage him, there's also nothing in Logan's interest that seems self sacrificial. Quite the opposite really. The desire to pull those around him closer has settled in him this month like the heavy, satisfying feeling of having just enough liquor in your blood stream to leave you feeling warmed inside.
"Sure. Sometimes." he shrugs. As usual, it's more complicated than that. Phantom pain won't likely be cured with a salve. He's not one to burden Wes' intention with details that don't matter. What does matter is Wes' concoctions smell good and the thought of being treated to someone's hands has its appeal. "Shoulders?" he asks.
Maybe it's too easy to imagine that the damage heals for Logan just as fast as his wounds do. Or perhaps the older man simply doesn't give the impression of wanting to be fussed over. Wes realizes he doesn't very often ask after the things that might be ailing Logan out of a failed belief that nothing can for very long. But the opportunity to dote on his partner is one he takes to gladly. Shoulders? Okay, sit down.
He trades his seat for a position behind Logan instead and watches him in the mirror with a contented smile. I'm going to take your shirt off, Wes tells the reflection before reaching around him to work down that row of buttons and part the garment off his shoulders. The salve is thick and a faint earthy brown, and Wes spreads it between his fingers before kneading his hands into Logan's shoulders. He works for longer than he really needs to rub the lotion in, drawing circles with his thumbs up the back of his partner's neck and spreading his hands wide to pass along the breadth and slope of the man's clavicles.
Tell me how you feel. Let me know if anything changes.
Having cultivated for himself the characteristic of a man that does not like to be fussed over is exactly why a man with such a command of concision finds it impossible to express the idea that he does, in fact, like to be fussed over. At least, from time to time. The same way even a feral dog won't always pull away from a kind hand.
He almost protests, opting to invite Wes somewhere calmer, but instead he drops himself into that seat. Quick to put a limit on how many invitations he's going to make for himself. "Mh," he nods but the noise turns into a single huff of amusement when his fingers trip over Wes' when the other man's hands are already there to unbutton him. He gives up the task easily enough and shrugs the Rob Roy plaid off his shoulders.
Truth be told, he might be the safest choice for a guinea pig. But his physiology can prove difficult to overcome for certain results. Knowing as much, he closes his eyes when Wes's hands find his shoulders. Not just because it is relaxing, but because if he can pour his focus into whatever sensation that concoction brings on, he might not miss it before his body battles it back.
Warm, he says as soon as he notices it. Like C-A-S-S-I-A oil. With a sigh, he folds his arms to pillow his head at Wes' work space and keeps his attention focused on Wes' touch.
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no subject
His hands rest on Wes' shoulders as he watches the man work, but ultimately he shakes his head. I can't remember. But I like it. That smell.
Tried them out yet?
no subject
In the stillness as they both breathe in, Wes reaches up and threads his fingers into Logan's. He tugs the man's arms down, urging him a step closer and configuring them into a brief hug that puts his back at the man's chest. Then, he lets go and turns to face his partner more completely.
Not yet, he admits. I don't want to tell Jean-Paul, in case it's all wrong. As with so many things around them, what could be beneficial might also end up dangerously harmful in the wrong doses.
no subject
As such, things for Logan are never a problem. Until his problems catch up with him.
But here in this cabin, in the quiet after October, those things seem miles away for a change.
What do you mean, all wrong? he asks. Like in case it doesn't work? He squeezes Wes against his chest until the man wants to turn to him.
You wanna try it out on me? I don't mind. I like the smell. Makes me sleepy.
no subject
For a long moment, Wes lets the admission hang in the air and waits. He doesn't expect that Logan will revise his position. If anything, he expects the man might be even more insistent to be used in that manner. But with all that's happened between them, it seems unfair not to warn him, and even more cruel to simply expect that he would be willing.
If the scent is any indication, he hopes he has it right. Are you sure? Wes asks anyway. Any part of you that aches? He knows his partner doesn't bear his scars visibly, but any site of pain could only be better for the test.
no subject
"Sure. Sometimes." he shrugs. As usual, it's more complicated than that. Phantom pain won't likely be cured with a salve. He's not one to burden Wes' intention with details that don't matter. What does matter is Wes' concoctions smell good and the thought of being treated to someone's hands has its appeal. "Shoulders?" he asks.
no subject
He trades his seat for a position behind Logan instead and watches him in the mirror with a contented smile. I'm going to take your shirt off, Wes tells the reflection before reaching around him to work down that row of buttons and part the garment off his shoulders. The salve is thick and a faint earthy brown, and Wes spreads it between his fingers before kneading his hands into Logan's shoulders. He works for longer than he really needs to rub the lotion in, drawing circles with his thumbs up the back of his partner's neck and spreading his hands wide to pass along the breadth and slope of the man's clavicles.
Tell me how you feel. Let me know if anything changes.
no subject
He almost protests, opting to invite Wes somewhere calmer, but instead he drops himself into that seat. Quick to put a limit on how many invitations he's going to make for himself. "Mh," he nods but the noise turns into a single huff of amusement when his fingers trip over Wes' when the other man's hands are already there to unbutton him. He gives up the task easily enough and shrugs the Rob Roy plaid off his shoulders.
Truth be told, he might be the safest choice for a guinea pig. But his physiology can prove difficult to overcome for certain results. Knowing as much, he closes his eyes when Wes's hands find his shoulders. Not just because it is relaxing, but because if he can pour his focus into whatever sensation that concoction brings on, he might not miss it before his body battles it back.
Warm, he says as soon as he notices it. Like C-A-S-S-I-A oil. With a sigh, he folds his arms to pillow his head at Wes' work space and keeps his attention focused on Wes' touch.