[ He wraps his arm — cool metal careful and fond as it slides over skin — around Verso's back and coaxes him down, fingers uncurling and hand slipping out from between them to settle on the grass as he closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath. That muffled laugh, warm against his cheek, makes him realize he's already smiling, half disbelieving and half giddy. Verso's a warm, unwound weight on top of him and he wants to stay this way forever, even with the sticky mess drying between them. ]
Good thing we're right next to a river.
[ To wash off, he means, sweat and more, but he doesn't let go or make a motion to get up. Right here, Verso in his arms and the night sky filled with the silvery sheen of stars and the scent of crushed grass warm from their bodies floating around them, he's as content as he can remember being for a long, long time.
He rubs his hand in the grass, lackadaisically wiping it, then lifts it to trail his fingers over the round of Verso's shoulder, marveling all over again at his perfection. There's a faint dusting of bruises from his own mouth, his fingers, but they're the only flaw. In contrast, his torso, his body, has become littered with scars faded by Lune's magic and their tinctures. He's leaner now than he was that day in the garden, a little more battered, a little older, with new sorrows and regrets that cling to him. But right now, when he opens his eyes and turns his head to press his mouth to Verso's forehead, he feels remade, brand new.
A chuckle of his own rumbles in his chest, pressed into Verso's hair. He feels as though he'd just drunk a bottle of sparkling wine, the effervescence bubbling through him, sweet and warm and happy. ]
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Date: 2025-06-10 05:52 pm (UTC)Good thing we're right next to a river.
[ To wash off, he means, sweat and more, but he doesn't let go or make a motion to get up. Right here, Verso in his arms and the night sky filled with the silvery sheen of stars and the scent of crushed grass warm from their bodies floating around them, he's as content as he can remember being for a long, long time.
He rubs his hand in the grass, lackadaisically wiping it, then lifts it to trail his fingers over the round of Verso's shoulder, marveling all over again at his perfection. There's a faint dusting of bruises from his own mouth, his fingers, but they're the only flaw. In contrast, his torso, his body, has become littered with scars faded by Lune's magic and their tinctures. He's leaner now than he was that day in the garden, a little more battered, a little older, with new sorrows and regrets that cling to him. But right now, when he opens his eyes and turns his head to press his mouth to Verso's forehead, he feels remade, brand new.
A chuckle of his own rumbles in his chest, pressed into Verso's hair. He feels as though he'd just drunk a bottle of sparkling wine, the effervescence bubbling through him, sweet and warm and happy. ]
I think you enjoy making a mess of me.