[ at seventy years, bob blows out a breath. longer than he’s been alive, obviously, and longer still than his scant connections, which might have gone on for days or weeks at a time, and were never, ever so steadfast as what he has now.
he nods through the rest, searching armand’s face for any signs of injury. displeased by the red mark of tears — by the thought of someone having armand for so long and never guarding him — quick to thumb them away. carefully, gently, for one with his power. ]
Shit, yeah. [ an immediate answer, when no secret’s safe for more than a second. his mouth quirks. ] Good thing I’m already there.
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he nods through the rest, searching armand’s face for any signs of injury. displeased by the red mark of tears — by the thought of someone having armand for so long and never guarding him — quick to thumb them away. carefully, gently, for one with his power. ]
Shit, yeah. [ an immediate answer, when no secret’s safe for more than a second. his mouth quirks. ] Good thing I’m already there.
[ the prelude to a kiss, sweet and sure. ]