Rourk kept staring at Valamir’s hands. He didn’t know why; they were just hands. However, this particular lashran’s hands were unlike any other’s. The long fingers could detect and soothe any hurt in the body, kneading and probing sore muscles until the recipient was practically mush. Those hands appeared slender and soft, but there were callouses on the palms from weapon usage. Valamir was simply adept at softening them to a silk finish through regular usage of creams and essential oils.

Those hands could kill. They’d done it before, Rourk knew. For all his beauty and soft-spoken words, Valamir was possibly the most dangerous man that Rourk had ever met in his life. His hands could manipulate weaponry with deadly accuracy, yet they could also work magic on a beloved friend or partner.

“And just what are you staring at?”

Rourk blinked, and he forced his gaze off of Valamir’s bronze hands, busily kneading the dough for a bread loaf the elder was in the process of making. The blond haired sire felt himself blush as Valamir’s deep purple eyes met his. So direct, that stare. Even now, after knowing Valamir and being with him for this long, the lifebearer could tear him down with a mere glance.

“Your hands,” answered Rourk truthfully. “I was just thinking of the history behind them.”

“The history?” Valamir frowned a bit, and he paused to regard his own flour-coated hands curiously.

“Indeed.” Rourk smiled at him, loving him all the more for that humble and innocent streak in him. “Those lovelies have seen more battles than anyone I’ve known, and yet every time you touch me with them, I...well, you know the rest, don’t you? I think last night speaks for itself.”

Valamir gave a low, soft chuckle. He shook his head, and the illumination of the kitchen lanterns softly highlighted the subtle gold blending in with the deep red shade of his hair. “You’ve quite the imagination, my love.”

Enchanted, Rourk fixated on those auburn waves. He reached out to run his fingers through the thick, long length of the ponytail that Valamir had gathered his locks into for his baking endeavors.

“I don’t think it requires much of an imagination to visualize it all, once a person knows your past. If doubtful, all one needs to do is gaze into your eyes...gods, you’re beautiful eyes...to see the truth of it.”

“Are you deliberately trying to seduce me?” Valamir raised a brow at him, smirking slightly. “I do need to finish this loaf, Rourk. Welvryn is going to be tired and hungry by the time he comes home from the academy.”

“Of course,” amended Rourk, keeping their other partner in mind. He swore to all that was good that he had the best possible arrangement of any sire in Wyndrah. He had not one, but two stunning lifebearers to bed down with at night. It was really no wonder some of his colleagues resented him. “I suppose I’m just distracted, watching those hands at work.”

“Well and good.” The silken amusement in Valamir’s tone didn’t fade. “Perhaps tonight after we’ve shared our meal and settled down for bed, I can demonstrate some of the features you’ve lauded.”

“As long as they are the features that don’t include snapping necks,” joked Rourk with a grin. “I’m yours, always.”

“I wouldn’t dream of snapping this beloved neck,” assured Valamir. He took a moment to reward Rourk’s praise, leaning close to brush his lips against said throat to make the sire’s breath catch. “But let us leave this subject matter for later, shall we? You’re in danger of distracting me.”

“Ah...yes.” Rourk blushed again. “I’ve...distracted me too. Excuse me, lover.”

As he retreated from the kitchen to see to the sudden condition in his pants, Rourk heard Valamir’s soft, snorting laughter. He grinned in spite of himself. For all his grace and beauty, Valamir had the most quirky laugh.