[it's calm and quiet on the brink of unconsciousness, a place where kurt wouldn't mind staying for some time. he finds it hard to ignore kavinsky's touch, though, the gentle compression drawing him back up from the depths. the pull on his shirt draws his attention further, half-lidded eyes squeezing shut then reopening with new vigor, sudden realization. his hand comes up from the bed, digits curling around the other boy's thin wrist, gripping with reassurance. he isn't ready to die-- not when his mission of getting his friend out of sunlight had actually worked. sure, it'd costed him, but that didn't change anything.
he's faintly aware by the time kavinsky's fingers brush his chin, expression apologetic as he meets the face that's now opposite his own. well, he hadn't been expecting to get this close again, but there's blatant concern in the tone of that voice and-- oh, had he really been that badly drained? no wonder something had felt off when the vampire skin didn't feel chilled.
free hand reaching, nightcrawler thumbs across a newly formed cheek, gliding down from there so he can tap the corner of kavinsky's mouth and — for a moment — he's blissfully happy. then, reality snaps back like a rubberband. "you've lost a lot of blood," he says. and perhaps, it's just that; the bloodloss.
or it could be the prompt shift of panic to some form of contentment. either way, he leans, pressing their foreheads together, some small unspoken thing between only them before his chin tips, allowing him to kiss the dream thief's bottom lip.] Kavinsky—
no subject
he's faintly aware by the time kavinsky's fingers brush his chin, expression apologetic as he meets the face that's now opposite his own. well, he hadn't been expecting to get this close again, but there's blatant concern in the tone of that voice and-- oh, had he really been that badly drained? no wonder something had felt off when the vampire skin didn't feel chilled.
free hand reaching, nightcrawler thumbs across a newly formed cheek, gliding down from there so he can tap the corner of kavinsky's mouth and — for a moment — he's blissfully happy. then, reality snaps back like a rubberband. "you've lost a lot of blood," he says. and perhaps, it's just that; the bloodloss.
or it could be the prompt shift of panic to some form of contentment. either way, he leans, pressing their foreheads together, some small unspoken thing between only them before his chin tips, allowing him to kiss the dream thief's bottom lip.] Kavinsky—