[He leaned into the contact of lips against his cheek, so close to his eye that he was certain that his commander could feel the brush of his long lashes as he closed them. He weaseled away, burrowing his face into Rumlow's neck where he could allow himself to feel the gentle beat of his commander's pulse against his neck. That was an illusion he knew; they were dead. There was no pulse, yet they persisted as if they were not. The soul was a strange concept.
His hands smoothed up, grasping as Rumlow's arms as he tucked his legs in closer, sliding his feet under his commander's knees. He stilled at the call of his name, unable to gauge the tone.]
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His hands smoothed up, grasping as Rumlow's arms as he tucked his legs in closer, sliding his feet under his commander's knees. He stilled at the call of his name, unable to gauge the tone.]
Rumlow?