♡ (from gayleb)
acts of affection meme: @feralandfair
There’s a bee buzzing somewhere over the tall grass, a soft breeze plucking at the reeds, sunlight sinking through the silk of Molly’s half-open blouse and into his skin, pressing him back against the cool earth until he doesn’t know where it starts and he begins. It’s quiet, peaceful, out here between towns, all birds and trees, the concept of a threat laughable when the sky is this blue.
Jester’s laugh carries on the wind, chased by the bass of Fjord’s voice. They’d lost Caduceus hours ago, and he imagines him amid the trees somewhere, happy as a lark. The thought comes to him, slow as treacle, I haven’t heard a page turn in a while, so Molly flops his arm out, claws bunching in the fabric of Caleb’s shirt with a gentle tug. Caleb’s stomach tenses under the sudden touch. He absently soothes his knuckles down the fastenings in apology.
“Come here,” he drawls. When Caleb huffs, then acquiesces with a rustle of fabric, head pillowing against his chest, Molly officially deems it a good day. Oh, well, no–Molly blindly pushes a leg between Caleb’s, hooking at his calf and coaxing him to throw one over him so he can really sprawl. Caleb indulges him, tilting his sun-warmed weight harder into Molly’s side. His tail curls in tight.
Now it’s a good day.
“Wind in the trees sounds like the ocean,” he murmurs on a sigh, lips brushing Caleb’s hairline. “Mona told me that a million years ago.”
They’re quiet, waiting for the boughs to creak and ripple.
“I suppose it does.”
Caleb nestles, beard scratching against Molly’s skin. His hand creeps beneath the edge of Molly’s plunging collar, and his thoughts of the sea scatter like dandelion fluff.
Caleb traces the lattice work of Molly’s scars, smoothing his fingers over the raised silver lines from one point to the next. Molly likes the methodical way he goes about the task. Not a single one goes untouched save for the unavoidably large scar on his chest, nimbly skipped over as though it doesn’t disrupt the old ones. Molly has a theory that Caleb enjoys the way they feel. He’s big on textures, he’s noticed that much.
He notices a lot. Like when Caleb stops stroking the scars, like when the weight of Caleb’s head on his chest disappears.
“Are you reading again?” He manages a squint, even with his eyes still screwed shut.
Caleb sounds caught out, “…Ah, no, no reading.”
“Mhm.” Molly sleepily blinks his eyes open, smiling up at Caleb, fully expecting to catch him reading his book over his shoulder, so his exhalation is a surprised, vibrating hum when he finds that he isn’t. The sound makes the wizard’s lips twitch, unbidden. His scarred fingers land near a flower in Molly’s hair.
“It opened,” Caleb states simply.
“Mm, they do that sometimes,” Molly replies, color heathering his cheeks, his ears; he can’t seem to control that either. He runs a hand down Caleb’s side, slips it under his shirt, making him shiver. It’s a lazy bid to distract him.
“I thought it was only at night.” He’s completely un-distractible right now.
“Well, you know,” Molly starts with no real intention of continuing. He wiggles in his spot on the ground, nudging at the pillowed cloak underneath him with the back curves of his horns. Caleb’s breath is a cool gust against his skin, waiting. “Moons can’t have all the fun.”
“Hmm,” is Caleb’s only response. His thumb follows the faintest scar at the base of his horn, where skin becomes horn becomes bark, and then the ragged edges of his hair are tickling Molly’s cheek as he leans in. A warm kiss touches the corner of one eye, Molly’s lashes fluttering against his lips. Caleb moves to the other, so Molly tilts his face to receive him with a deep, rumbling sigh. A giddy heat blooms in his chest, coils up his throat. Another flower opens, then a third.
When Caleb pulls away the red line of Molly’s drawn-on wing is smudged across his lower lip. Molly’s stomach trembles at the sight of it. He splays his fingers wide and wanting across the small of Caleb’s back.
“Come here,” he whispers, and Caleb leans in until their lips meet chastely, then again and again and again.
