In the back of his mind, Vanyel always did the same when it came to thinking of Tylendel. Like Apollo, he could never help it, though he managed to push that to the back of his mind, lest sorrow and somehow a feeling of guilt overwhelm him.
Still, the thoughts made him moan. He shifted, sliding his hips against Apollo in return, trying to think of the last time he had done this, and finding it very hard to think of it. When? Months? Years?
With a need he did not know he had his fingers slid beneath the top of Apollo's shirt, feeling warm skin and scratching along it, other hand kneading the thick bicep as his mouth continued to draw the other in, never wanting to part from it, not even for breath (though of course that was inevitable and did happen, if only for a fraction of a heartbeat).
Should he stop? Some part of him said he should, that there was something Apollo had said - a husband. Yes, a husband. But he wanted him to. Was the husband even here in the world? Was he alone? Was he alone like he was? Like he had been for so long?
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Still, the thoughts made him moan. He shifted, sliding his hips against Apollo in return, trying to think of the last time he had done this, and finding it very hard to think of it. When? Months? Years?
With a need he did not know he had his fingers slid beneath the top of Apollo's shirt, feeling warm skin and scratching along it, other hand kneading the thick bicep as his mouth continued to draw the other in, never wanting to part from it, not even for breath (though of course that was inevitable and did happen, if only for a fraction of a heartbeat).
Should he stop? Some part of him said he should, that there was something Apollo had said - a husband. Yes, a husband. But he wanted him to. Was the husband even here in the world? Was he alone? Was he alone like he was? Like he had been for so long?