#heeeeeee!!!!!!

kissing down the hollow of flins’ chest in the grey hours before dawn with the sea hurling itself against the lighthouse and the gulls only just stirring awake in their salt-eaten roosts… his fingers finding purchase in your hair and his voice a ruined thing, stripped of all its elegant courtesy as he sighs your name, whispers something in his ancient tongue that you don’t understand but feel in your marrow as love