[Dizzied with his euphoria, when Lucius leans in to claim his lips, the way Eridanus responds is nothing short of a mindless reaction. Rather than an impassioned return, it's softer, fond. That tongue fills his mouth and he swallows it down like sweet nectar. His unstuck eye closes, and he shifts to press the unrelenting ridge of his maw against his consort's chin as if he wished to draw out the simple show of affection for an eternity.
But the touch is as short-lived as it ever is, and soon after Lucius withdraws his tongue, it instead glides upwards. Eridanus' voice catches in his throat, a whimper of a sound as the right half of his face is cleaned up the way an animal would rather than a man. Still, when he reopens his eyes, it's with a smile that creases them at the corners as his reverent gaze returns upwards. That gaze remains too, even as Lucius easily scoops him up into overlarge arms and carries them to the bed.
Content with the way their bodies slot together, Eridanus' own opaline claws trace over the scarified ridges of Lucius' face. A daggered forefinger picking out the freshest of the lot and tracing along the mirrored match to the fresh slice in his brow.]
My beloved, [his voice is soft, as he traces more of those scars, uncaring if those obsidian-sharp tips flense deadened tissue or not. His expression sours slightly, from fond to contemplative as his gaze rakes over his consort's latticed skin,] do you remember your deaths? Do you remember the source of every scar?
no subject
But the touch is as short-lived as it ever is, and soon after Lucius withdraws his tongue, it instead glides upwards. Eridanus' voice catches in his throat, a whimper of a sound as the right half of his face is cleaned up the way an animal would rather than a man. Still, when he reopens his eyes, it's with a smile that creases them at the corners as his reverent gaze returns upwards. That gaze remains too, even as Lucius easily scoops him up into overlarge arms and carries them to the bed.
Content with the way their bodies slot together, Eridanus' own opaline claws trace over the scarified ridges of Lucius' face. A daggered forefinger picking out the freshest of the lot and tracing along the mirrored match to the fresh slice in his brow.]
My beloved, [his voice is soft, as he traces more of those scars, uncaring if those obsidian-sharp tips flense deadened tissue or not. His expression sours slightly, from fond to contemplative as his gaze rakes over his consort's latticed skin,] do you remember your deaths? Do you remember the source of every scar?