The most amazing fortress
Characters: Joker/Shepard, Traynor
Warm, familiar, safe.
It’s Shepard’s leather jacket around him. Joker would know the scent anywhere. It smells rich and warm and like guns and oil, and just a little bit rank and sweaty because she doesn’t wash it anywhere near as often as she should.
It’s heavy. Warm. Safe. Draped over him like his own private little blanket fort. Or maybe a dragon around its treasure, because forts don’t smell of leather. But he’s feeling pretty good either way. Maybe a little too good. There’s a spaced out feel in his head he knows he should recognise but can’t quite care about. Warm is warm and comfy.
At least the bits of him that aren’t his legs. They’re kind of cold actually. And uncomfortable in the stretch-and-cramp way that comes with sitting in a position he really shouldn’t be sitting in for too long.
He tries to pull them to his chest. Ow goes something in his knees, but they comply. Definitely sitting way too long. And on something ridiculously hard, too.
Ground he realises, prying his eyes open.