[ Steve sways with slight exaggeration, and his palm settles over Sam's. Locks eyes with him for a second before closing them, easier for him to concentrate (he's convinced, anyway). The brush of Sam's mind is familiar and welcomed on two fronts: the part that Steve still considers wholly himself and the part that is the symbiote, its constant desire for this form of touch. Synchronicity. He takes care to recognize the difference every time.
When he can't anymore is when he'll start to get worried again.
Invisible fingers skim across the place where they meet. His touch is both man-made and earthy: the sun-warmed boardwalk under bare feet. Solid and comfortable. He settles there, waiting for Sam to take the lead. ]
no subject
When he can't anymore is when he'll start to get worried again.
Invisible fingers skim across the place where they meet. His touch is both man-made and earthy: the sun-warmed boardwalk under bare feet. Solid and comfortable. He settles there, waiting for Sam to take the lead. ]