The first remark shakes another laugh out of him, surprised and amused, it is so batshit insane but also considerate and isn’t that just the perfect summary of Gwenaëlle Clothilde Decima Vauquelin Baudin,
and Stephen’s still smiling through “I survived a yearslong dry spell, what’s a few more weeks,” but then Gwenaëlle captures his mouth and swallows whatever he’d been about to say. He kisses her back, and there’s an edge to it that’s been tamped-down and absent since the beginning of Harvestmere; this isn’t a chaste peck to her cheek or forehead, nor the clinical touch of a doctor checking on her wounds, her fresh dressing. He pauses only long enough to move some of the gifting chaos out of the way, not wanting to accidentally crush that custom puzzle-box or that precious framed glass poem under a knee, a thigh. With the bed alcove, it’s easy enough to relocate their Satinalia presents to the not-too-distant floor.
They haven’t had to do that in a while.
And as his mouth opens against hers with the slide of tongue, he realises: he has actually missed this. Not enough to nudge or pry or ask, but now that the fire’s here with that slow ember sparking anew, he admits it to himself: he has missed her. This.
no subject
and Stephen’s still smiling through “I survived a yearslong dry spell, what’s a few more weeks,” but then Gwenaëlle captures his mouth and swallows whatever he’d been about to say. He kisses her back, and there’s an edge to it that’s been tamped-down and absent since the beginning of Harvestmere; this isn’t a chaste peck to her cheek or forehead, nor the clinical touch of a doctor checking on her wounds, her fresh dressing. He pauses only long enough to move some of the gifting chaos out of the way, not wanting to accidentally crush that custom puzzle-box or that precious framed glass poem under a knee, a thigh. With the bed alcove, it’s easy enough to relocate their Satinalia presents to the not-too-distant floor.
They haven’t had to do that in a while.
And as his mouth opens against hers with the slide of tongue, he realises: he has actually missed this. Not enough to nudge or pry or ask, but now that the fire’s here with that slow ember sparking anew, he admits it to himself: he has missed her. This.