@mortulo 「 no prompt 」 ↬ in the comforts of cozy study, once more gracing lover with his most eminent presence, emet does not simply lounge and doze in the quiet of familiar lap. he's come with a purpose, hands find golden tresses and card fingers through in adoration, mindful of claws, as to not ruin such beauty. a gentle sigh, lips bowing into subtle smile through concentration, weaving few strands and hints of ley lines into thin braid. what he secures it with is not conventional, but an adornment he's fashioned for such an occasion.
❝ for you, ❞ he hums, allowing white pearl and gold fastening to linger on palm for lahabrea's viewing pleasure, returning the braid to owner's shoulder soon after. ❝ so wherever we may roam, we shall always be together. ❞ ever sentimental. a kiss finds beloved's lips, lingers longer than necessary, before they part and he nestles his head into collar.
a breath, a sigh, a heavy air thick with the weight of something ( grief, or maybe its counterpart; exhalation of relief, which speaks in the soft tongues they have denied themselves amidst Ardor ). he does not react to emet’s presence, which speaks where words have never sufficed. the vulnerability of neck, for most beloved predator. the smooth, untensed line of shoulder. the curve of his mouth, dipping only slightly as he mouths words to himself, unbothered by presence. he balances a tome precariously in one hand, and it is only the movement of his eyes -- pausing, blank on one word at the corner of the page -- that gives away the delicate shift of his attention.
the light catches and holds, a flicker of flame that licks at his cheek, ever adoring. he can hide nothing in its radiance, and least of all the adoration, the awareness which hums in aetheric resonance as soon as lover makes touch. fingers binding through his hair, drawing tallow strands to catch in ember shade. his head tilts into the touch, ever patient under ministrations. he reads the same line, again and again and then once more, before he gives up, his concentration shattered effortlessly beneath touch. lashes, long and dark to carve spiky shadows along his cheeks, flicker and close.
an uneven breath, as his research goes abandoned. tossed to the table, so he may turn his body into lover’s company. it is not an act he would do for anyone. another of those things, which he cannot hope to disguise into anything but what it is : a declaration of love.
“ ah. “ he traces the gem with careful fingers where it sits upon palm, and then draws a caress to ghost along the pulse at the inside of emet’s wrist. carmine flickers and tracks over a face more familiar even than his own, drawing its own stroke from eyes, to mouth, to the ear that bears the matching jewel. his fingers catch it, rolling it between his fingers before he strokes the curve, the lobe, the side of his jaw. “ we match. “
the smile he gives cannot hope to impress the depths of his own ache, the limitless hunger of his own adorations. this ugly mess of his chest, a bruised fruit that he cannot help but mishandle. his throat works in a slow swallow.
“ i haven’t come prepared. “
he has no gift of his own, he means, but it reads more as a confession. like he is knelt at his feet, offering up this tender, misused thing. the rot of his heart. do something with it, anything. and with his mouth on his, the swallowing of his shuddering breath, he is absolved. he is home.
it seems such a silly thing, to shatter into so many pieces and then return to the world as if nothing has changed, but that is what he does. he digs his fingers into lover’s hip, and reaches for his book, and though the words before his eyes are blurred with the ringing of his ears, he accepts this tender gift without drawing blood.
