#zanton

"Are you ever going to tell me your first name?" Zane asks, fingers idly drawing across Heaton's knuckles. "I was thinking of borrowing one of yours." "One of mine, eh?" He raises an eyebrow. "How many do you think I have?" "Danger, Deathbringer, Sharpshooter, I heard some girl on Eden-4 even calls you-" "All right, then, that's enough. Which one did you have your eye on?" "Ferocity, maybe. Something about the sound of it." He can't put his finger on what, but ever since he heard Zane laughingly toss it out, in that wonderful voice, he'd wanted to hear it again. Wanted to have some claim to Zane's life. Something he can hold onto, point to, know that it was all real, when Zane leaves. He can't shake the feeling that some kind of change is right around the corner, and he can't bring himself to think that it'll be a good one. "Well, you're welcome to it," Zane assures him. "Do I get to have one of yours? Fair's fair." Heaton snorts, and shifts to look at Zane better, trying to distract himself from his worries. "And which one did you have your eye on?" he asks, mimicking Zane's accent. "I do not sound like that," Zane grumbles, then looks away. There's something strange about his face, Heaton thinks, and realises he's never seen Zane nervous before. "I was thinking Heaton, maybe." "That…" His throat's dry. He swallows. "That sounds like a proposal." "Maybe so." "If it was, I'd say yes." Zane looks back at him, quick enough that Heaton blinks. "Would you, then?" Zane whispers. All he can do is nod, but that must be enough, because Zane kisses him, gently, and tucks against his side, resting his head on Heaton's arm. "I'll give you something grand, lovey," he promises, softer than Heaton's ever heard him.