#imsosry

BBG ITS NOTHINGGGG JUST WAITTTT ♡♡♡

BTW IS THIS YOUUU(PLS AGREE I ALMOST DIED FOR THIS)

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His feet move with no input from his brain, splashing through puddles of mud and blood and who knows what else to make a beeline for the elf emerging from the mists. His staff clatters forgotten on the ground along with his wits, his propriety, any inkling of self-control at all, and without so much as a by-your-leave he is upon him, gripping locks of sodden white hair to pull Fenris closer. No thought at all, just sheer blind relief and the lingering fog of bloodlust crashes their lips together, teeth clashing and noses colliding before Atreion rights himself, presses in deeper with a cross between a sigh and a growl of frustration. The rain is pouring in rivulets down their faces, streaking blood and filth and wetting his clothes and skin through, and he simply doesn’t care.

Because he lives. The battle was long a brutal and he’d lost him, he couldn’t see him in the mire and good fucking Gods what is wrong with him?

Abruptly, they break apart - or rather, Atreion bodily thrusts poor Fenris away, backpedaling with a look if sheer horror at his own behaviour. Shit. His brain helpfully supplies. Shit shit shit…

“I— forgive me. That was— I didn’t mean to— Shit. ”

His body was heavy and his knees were shaken. Had it not been for using his sword to hold himself up, it’s very likely that the elf would’ve found himself upon the ground like a trampled rose. Red stained his ivory hair, red and sticky clumps clinging to his face. It was nearly impossible to see between the fog and the rain and his vision nearly blocked. But it seemed to finally be over... not a minute too soon. This very well have been the battle the marked his final resting place. 

There were bodies that lay at his feet, the battlefield in a matter of hours turned graveyard.

Atreion - don’t let Atreion be one of the dozen’s of bodies scattered. Just when he forced himself to take his steps, determined not to go down until he found his body, dead or alive - the slapping of feet in the bloody mud and puddles answered for him. He was alive--

And the taste of cinnamon spice was heavy on his lips as teeth clashed against his own in an abrupt kiss one could only give at the brick of life or death. Had Fenris had any sense and strength in him, he may have reacted further than his eyes widening in dumbfounded confusion, the sword that held him up dropping to the ground with a splash as his hands gripped Atreion’s elbow’s in exchange, eyes unable to hide their shock, wide as can be - and then he was shoved back, hardly giving a second to have any reaction. 

Alive. Blood. Shivers. Kiss--