Frey watches with open delight as Sunjata relaxes into their touch, the shift subtle but unmistakable—the way his shoulders uncoil, the way his breath deepens, the way he reaches without hesitation now, curling an arm around them like he belongs there. Because he does. He always has. The tired edge to his smile, though, earns him a softer look, something far deeper than just affection.
"Burden?" they echo, shaking their head as they reach to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. "You forget, my darling one, I don’t keep things that don’t please me." The warmth in their tone is absolute, unwavering, leaving no space for doubt.
There’s something knowing in their eyes as they watch him lift the pomegranate seeds to his lips, as he takes the fruit into his mouth. The deliberate movement, the slow indulgence—it pulls a pleased hum from Frey’s throat. The firelight catches the glisten of juice on his lips, and their own curl in approval. Beautiful, they think, though their thoughts are likely clear enough in the way they look at him, in the slow trail of their fingers down his arm, tracing veins, tattoos and scars alike with idle reverence.
As Sunjata leans forward, silent question in his eyes, and Frey leans with him. "Oh, gray-eyes," they purr, their voice a velvet thing, rich with promise. "I was thinking of… you."
Their fingers slip between his, catching one of the glistening pomegranate seeds and lifting it to his lips. "Take what you need," they murmur, their gaze dropping to his mouth, watching the way his breath shifts, the way his body anticipates before his mind can catch up. Their thumb ghosts over his bottom lip as they press the seed against his tongue, lingering for just a moment too long.
"You always have been so reluctant to ask for what you need." Their free hand drags through his hair now, nails scraping lightly at his scalp, soothing and teasing all at once. The approval radiating from the deity isn’t just warmth—it’s something felt, something that seeps into the skin, into the blood, curling through the attuned bond with all the intimacy of a whispered secret. "You have been cleansed and yet...still it haunts you, mm?"
"Burden?" they echo, shaking their head as they reach to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. "You forget, my darling one, I don’t keep things that don’t please me." The warmth in their tone is absolute, unwavering, leaving no space for doubt.
There’s something knowing in their eyes as they watch him lift the pomegranate seeds to his lips, as he takes the fruit into his mouth. The deliberate movement, the slow indulgence—it pulls a pleased hum from Frey’s throat. The firelight catches the glisten of juice on his lips, and their own curl in approval. Beautiful, they think, though their thoughts are likely clear enough in the way they look at him, in the slow trail of their fingers down his arm, tracing veins, tattoos and scars alike with idle reverence.
As Sunjata leans forward, silent question in his eyes, and Frey leans with him. "Oh, gray-eyes," they purr, their voice a velvet thing, rich with promise. "I was thinking of… you."
Their fingers slip between his, catching one of the glistening pomegranate seeds and lifting it to his lips. "Take what you need," they murmur, their gaze dropping to his mouth, watching the way his breath shifts, the way his body anticipates before his mind can catch up. Their thumb ghosts over his bottom lip as they press the seed against his tongue, lingering for just a moment too long.
"You always have been so reluctant to ask for what you need." Their free hand drags through his hair now, nails scraping lightly at his scalp, soothing and teasing all at once. The approval radiating from the deity isn’t just warmth—it’s something felt, something that seeps into the skin, into the blood, curling through the attuned bond with all the intimacy of a whispered secret. "You have been cleansed and yet...still it haunts you, mm?"
