Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
Her answer hits him the second she says it. You. It lands somewhere deep and immediate, and the ripple of it sends something familiar lapping up against the surface of his mind. A memory that flashes sharp and bright through the heat of everything else. A different room, a different night, when he’d barely known what to do with her. When wanting her had felt like something that'd be ruin, and yet he did the best he could to keep hold of her.
Gods, he hadn’t even imagined this then. Not this. Not her like this, not them like this—married and tangled up in something that refuses to feel anything less than impossibly in love. It hits him all over again, the way he'd chased forever on her lips. He leans into her for it, like he means to deliver it once more, to give her exactly what she’s asking for—and then she says wait.
It barely slows him. Not at first. His mouth lingers too close, breath still uneven, like he’s expecting her to follow it up with something else, something that keeps them right where they are. Even when she starts to pull back, he only gives her just enough space to move, his hands slow to loosen, like he doesn’t quite believe she means it. "What?" it comes out low, half a breath, half a protest.
He watches her move away with all the belief it'd be temporary, but there's a faint, incredulous huff of a laugh under it. He stands as erect as the line against his thigh, heat left simmering just under his skin with nowhere to go now that she's out of reach. "Now?" he adds, a disbelieving climb to his brow. He leans in effortlessly against the dresser nearby, a bemused expression settling. "You do know how birthdays work...right?" Meaning, why the fuck was she giving him something?
Adjusting the strain of his pants, and in fact choosing to forgo them entirely as he tugs them down, and with one hop, sends them to his ankles, his boxers shamelessly bearing her name now on display. The box in her hand pulls his attention with all the dubious curiosity he can muster, but when she says it, he stills in place. He hadn't forgotten, but he'd shifted their anniversary to the wedding, so he's caught off guard not only by the questionable timing of this, but also by the prepared production of the latest Hot Ketchup commemorative memorabilia.
He glances from the box back to her, a wholly boyish smile overtaking the previous carve of deviousness. "You cheated," he accuses with the warm glow of affection and the quiet delight at receiving a token of adoration such as this. "I thought we were saving for the wedding rings, and going off that date!" A true collector at heart, he'd wear every manner of her love that he could, and enjoys a good unboxing sesh. The bracelet matches too well with his hair tie to be a mistake, and knowing the band would eventually be folded into their wedding rings, this seems a perfect, long-standing replacement. "The Torchline Crow is back on her game, I see," he teases as he slips the bracelet on without hesitation. "Couldn't let me touch you one second longer without something shiny being part of the occasion?" Still certain all she's done is provide a very nice bracelet, and wonderful proof that he's not the only one who can fumble hot and heavy moments, although he is glad Melita isn't here this time for it.
Gods, he hadn’t even imagined this then. Not this. Not her like this, not them like this—married and tangled up in something that refuses to feel anything less than impossibly in love. It hits him all over again, the way he'd chased forever on her lips. He leans into her for it, like he means to deliver it once more, to give her exactly what she’s asking for—and then she says wait.
It barely slows him. Not at first. His mouth lingers too close, breath still uneven, like he’s expecting her to follow it up with something else, something that keeps them right where they are. Even when she starts to pull back, he only gives her just enough space to move, his hands slow to loosen, like he doesn’t quite believe she means it. "What?" it comes out low, half a breath, half a protest.
He watches her move away with all the belief it'd be temporary, but there's a faint, incredulous huff of a laugh under it. He stands as erect as the line against his thigh, heat left simmering just under his skin with nowhere to go now that she's out of reach. "Now?" he adds, a disbelieving climb to his brow. He leans in effortlessly against the dresser nearby, a bemused expression settling. "You do know how birthdays work...right?" Meaning, why the fuck was she giving him something?
Adjusting the strain of his pants, and in fact choosing to forgo them entirely as he tugs them down, and with one hop, sends them to his ankles, his boxers shamelessly bearing her name now on display. The box in her hand pulls his attention with all the dubious curiosity he can muster, but when she says it, he stills in place. He hadn't forgotten, but he'd shifted their anniversary to the wedding, so he's caught off guard not only by the questionable timing of this, but also by the prepared production of the latest Hot Ketchup commemorative memorabilia.
He glances from the box back to her, a wholly boyish smile overtaking the previous carve of deviousness. "You cheated," he accuses with the warm glow of affection and the quiet delight at receiving a token of adoration such as this. "I thought we were saving for the wedding rings, and going off that date!" A true collector at heart, he'd wear every manner of her love that he could, and enjoys a good unboxing sesh. The bracelet matches too well with his hair tie to be a mistake, and knowing the band would eventually be folded into their wedding rings, this seems a perfect, long-standing replacement. "The Torchline Crow is back on her game, I see," he teases as he slips the bracelet on without hesitation. "Couldn't let me touch you one second longer without something shiny being part of the occasion?" Still certain all she's done is provide a very nice bracelet, and wonderful proof that he's not the only one who can fumble hot and heavy moments, although he is glad Melita isn't here this time for it.
Kaisel
They don't gotta ask 'cause they know I'm him
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
