[I believe you, Sorey says, open and trusting and loving. It occurs to Dezel, not for the first time, that he's going to hurt so much more when nature reclaims Sorey and his soul. He won't fall-- that's not an option-- but then Dezel will be alone again, and god, he just can't think about that right now. He can only think about what's in front of him.
He can't see the emerald green of Sorey's eyes, can't memorize the little bit of gold that leaks into his brown hair when the sun hits it. But the wind tells him everything he needs to know regardless. It tells Dezel that he's smiling. It describes the roundness of his nose, the crinkling of his lashes at the edges of his eyes. Dezel can imagine the rest. He can feel the boldness of Sorey's thumbs on his cheeks, hear the roughness of Sorey's voice.
Dezel's eyes flutter open, a pale silver-green like the edge of a cloud. He looks for a moment like a man who's never been loved before or at least not in a long time. His cheeks burn beneath the Shepherd's tender touches; he tries to keep his breathing steady, but it hitches at points as he realizes just how deep he's in.
Sorey loves his seraphim, but he could never love Dezel like--
And just like that, Dezel finds himself pulling away from the touch that both grounds him and sends him spinning. It isn't a violent motion-- rather, he just gently takes Sorey's hands and holds them for a moment.]
no subject
He can't see the emerald green of Sorey's eyes, can't memorize the little bit of gold that leaks into his brown hair when the sun hits it. But the wind tells him everything he needs to know regardless. It tells Dezel that he's smiling. It describes the roundness of his nose, the crinkling of his lashes at the edges of his eyes. Dezel can imagine the rest. He can feel the boldness of Sorey's thumbs on his cheeks, hear the roughness of Sorey's voice.
Dezel's eyes flutter open, a pale silver-green like the edge of a cloud. He looks for a moment like a man who's never been loved before or at least not in a long time. His cheeks burn beneath the Shepherd's tender touches; he tries to keep his breathing steady, but it hitches at points as he realizes just how deep he's in.
Sorey loves his seraphim, but he could never love Dezel like--
And just like that, Dezel finds himself pulling away from the touch that both grounds him and sends him spinning. It isn't a violent motion-- rather, he just gently takes Sorey's hands and holds them for a moment.]
W-we should get going. Daylight's burning.
[Time to roll out of bed.]