#broe....

     “That so?” Claire can’t help but muse to himself, rust-red gaze staying ever fixed on his own hands. On where his fingers touch against Khalid’s skin. And it’s a wonder just how soft it feels to the touch, a beauty to admire like the contrast of his hands against the lord’s face– almost as if it were a blemish of some sort, like the dark red that stains his palms from time to time. But it’s a different kind of beauty, the assassin notes, one that relaxes him instead of excites him. One that lets his loud personality climb down a rung of the ladder he’s sat himself on, the very top of a tower fit for him and him alone.

     But perhaps Khalid is fitting of being next to him on that pedestal. It’s certainly a thought that’s been on his mind.

     His palm brushes against the archer’s cheek, slides back until his fingers touch the curve of his neck, cupping it delicately. As if any further touch would break him but Claire knows better. Khalid isn’t so fragile that he’ll break from a simple touch of the assassin’s hands but perhaps Claire is thinking that, for once, he doesn’t want to hurt someone. That he’d much rather see that sunny smile, the mischievous glint in those bright eyes of his ( a look he knows well, for he too always wears such a playful look in his gaze ). He likes hearing the praise that leaves the lord’s lips, the fluffing of his ego and how willing he is to listen– to give Claire the attention he desires without him doing much.

     As over-the-top as he can be.

     It’s nice.

     The tips of his fingers are gentle as they creep up the back of Khalid’s neck, gently thread into the dark locks of his hair and Claire can’t help the purr that slips from him. His other hand is careful, gently as his hand drags against the line of his jaw, another pleased hum in his throat at the contrast of his soft skin and the hair along the curve of his jaw. Down and down and down until his fingers tilt his head back, making those green eyes of his meet the rust-colored look of the assassin. “I have to agree,” Finally, Claire breaks his silence of simply being fond of the way his hands move against Khalid’s face, of the touch against his fingertips, of the approval of him doing such a thing so familiar and the assassin finds himself sighing, lips twitching briefly in a gentle curve.

     “Though, it’s unfair! You give me so much,” Claire laughs, smile widening and his eyes remaining lowered– such a soft gaze unfitting a monster known for bloody brutality– as his thumb shifts, presses carefully to the corner of Khalid’s mouth, “Yet this littlest thing– it makes my heart soar, y’know.” Another quiet laugh, the hand that rested against the archer’s hair sliding back to cup his cheek.

     Claire can feel the warmth of his skin, like he’s holding the sun itself in his hands. For a moment he has to wonder if he is, with the smile given to him, the equally calm gaze. It’s a warmth that has him feeling as though he’s basking in the sun’s heat, simply lazing in the rays. And perhaps he’s already made his decision in his conscious mind– that Khalid’s future is his future. That perhaps he is ready to follow him to the ends of this world– his world– and lend him his hand as he sees fit.