‘ desire is no light thing. ’
the light has long since faded from the sky, the last bits trailing over the roofs of king’s landing, the day itself preparing to pack and travel to the north. a coronation, a concession, a collusion -
lothian has long learnt to make himself comfortable in the bed of the kingsguard, or one in particular, splayed back even as sunhwa divests himself of the trappings of his role, cloak and sword hold little meaning here.
the phrase is uttered as sunhwa straddles the taller man, kneeling up on the bed, takes in it’s first meaning, then previous contexts, the pair used to conversations purely held in insinutations, in the glint of light in their eyes.
quick as a blink, sunhwa leans down, fist on his breastbone and thumb in the hollow of his throat, gentle pressure on the pressure point. ‘ she is a child. ‘ they press harder, eyes narrowing. ‘ why? what weighs heavy for you? ‘