#them... just them!!

unprompted ask // always accepting !! There’s a softness about him when he sleeps; sparking tenderness that enflames her with an intrinsic desire to act as sentinel against all that could harm him [ all that might harm him except she herself as she willfully remains at his side ]  His birthday was a grand affair, one that had clearly wiped him out as the evening drew to a close and the raucous party died down, the pair finding themselves back in his apartment once more. Sett had settled comfortably on his sofa while vasya puttered around the kitchen to make them both a final drink, settling into comfortable, casual intimacy that shaped their relationship. He’s asleep when she returns, lips parted and visage relaxed, wiped clean of harsh lines. a stronger person would slip away and leave it at that, but she is not strong. Not as a slender finger reaches out to trace the bridge of his nose and the high points of his cheeks. The tenderness within expands, pressing painfully against her ribs, against her heart until she feels she could burst if she doesn’t act. There’s a word for it, not that she allows herself to think it. it always hovers between them; four letters that frighten her to the core. the ends of inky black hair tickle his face as she leans down, pressing her lips to his in a feather-light kiss. “Happy birthday, baby. . .” vasya whispers, mouth moving to then press against his forehead before backing away. Pressing a hand over her pounding heart, she wills it to settle and relinquish its roaring need to wake him and say more. ( @darkdevour )

sleep had taken him, but not deeply. he had drifted in and out, his structure heavy with exhaustion but his senses still sharp ⸻ years of instinct and survival conditioning would not let him slip too far. he knew she was still around before she even came close, could hear the way her footfalls softened whilst she approached, the way she lingered just within reach but did not dare wake him. a little ghost, quiet, attentive, but daring not to give away her presence when he was finding repose. in truth, he should have stayed under, should have let her believe he was still resting, but the moment her digits ghosted along the bridge of his nose, skimming his cheekbone, something in him changed. she never let herself touch him in such a way when he was awake: not with the kind of hesitance that reflected the fear of the weight behind the gesture. he kept his breathing even, his structure relaxed ( for after all, with her, there was no reason for extreme alarm ), absorbing every small movement, every brush of warmth whilst she leaned in. he could feel the tickle of her hair, the scent of her lingering so close it sent a slow ache curling in his chest.

but that damn whisper of tiers against his. so light it almost was not there, so light that it could be misinterpreted [ ... ] but he felt it, an evident jolt to his system. she murmured words against his tanned complexion, and he barely stopped himself from responding. it would be so easy to catch her then, to open his spheres and pull her down into the weight of his need, but he let it play out, let her retreat. he felt her pull away, sensed the moment she hesitated. if she had left, if she had turned and walked out of the room, mayhap he would have let it go. mayhap. but she did not. and he cared not to have the reasoning when the golden liquid was influencing his thoughts.

❝ you always make it so damn difficult, vasya. ❞ his spheres were closed, his tiers naught with a smirk, naught with an indication that he found the event amusing. only after a few seconds ( that seemed naught an eternity ) did he open his aureate spheres, dark gold cutting through the dimness of the room. she was already tensing like she was preparing to slip away, but he was faster ⸻ always faster. his calloused hand caught hers before she could retreat, digits wrapping firm but carefully around her wrist, and with an effortless pull, he had her toppling towards him. not onto the couch, not onto the cushion beside him ⸻ onto him.