Sebastian let himself be moved, making enough space for Reid to slide in easily between himself and the counter. He could have resisted the intense and direct eye contact, but he didn't even try
( ... )
Sebastian laughed, soft and pleased. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt this warm, honestly. It's like everything was taking on that pleased glow people liked to write books and songs about. He wasn't the type to actually buy into that. But he got it. Really, he did. Now that he had Reid so close he could feel his breath and there was this accepted proposal between them
( ... )
Reid wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh, or cry, or jump up on the counter to bust out a hand jive of bliss, or tackle this damn man to the ground in a debauched and disbelieving display of appreciation and affection.
A little bit of everything, really (though it was still a bit early for such a broadway-inspired bit of dramatics).
The laugh caught in his throat, and the tears stung at the backs of his eyes, and Reid systematically ran his hands up Sebastian's chest, flittered across his collarbones, thumbed along his jaw, his cheekbones, smoothed over the curve of his eyebrow, petted and combed back through his hair, all the while trailing his own motions with his eyes, as if trying to capture for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time that which he already knew by heart. Wondering, as he always did, how he'd managed to earn this.
(Earn. Not deserve. Because Merlin knew he didn't deserve this jewel-eyed, soft-hearted, broken-yet-healed, survivor-against-all-odds, beautiful fucking disaster of a man. But he'd damn well
( ... )
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A little bit of everything, really (though it was still a bit early for such a broadway-inspired bit of dramatics).
The laugh caught in his throat, and the tears stung at the backs of his eyes, and Reid systematically ran his hands up Sebastian's chest, flittered across his collarbones, thumbed along his jaw, his cheekbones, smoothed over the curve of his eyebrow, petted and combed back through his hair, all the while trailing his own motions with his eyes, as if trying to capture for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time that which he already knew by heart. Wondering, as he always did, how he'd managed to earn this.
(Earn. Not deserve. Because Merlin knew he didn't deserve this jewel-eyed, soft-hearted, broken-yet-healed, survivor-against-all-odds, beautiful fucking disaster of a man. But he'd damn well ( ... )
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