WHO: Masters Kirkland and Galante-Kirkland
WHEN: November 27th, evening
WHERE:
Buccaneer Beach Apartments in the Lakewood district of Liberty, Room 12d
WHAT: After all the dust has settled, love, love is a verb- love is a doing word.
(
Gentle impulsion shakes me, makes me lighter... )
Comments 7
Distant seagulls spread like polka dots across the horizon. Like the sun bleeding the sky violet and gold as it retreated for the night, Peter closed and locked the sliding glass door before he wandered to the bedroom.
His facial muscles moved to form a smile as natural as his lungs inhaled air. Slowly and quietly, he made his way to lay beside Raivis on their new bed. The old mattress was too soft for Peter's liking. This one was perfect. This room was bed. This flat was perfect.
"So tired," Peter mumbled into Raivis' ear, lips nibbling at the shell. "Sleepy time, aye?"
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Gently waving aside the last of the feathers (escapees from the down pillows), Raivis tilted his head back, nudged at a brow line with his nose. "Peter, we're..." He curved an arm around the body beside his and pulled them both flush together. "We're home."
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"Aye," he repeated, lips curling into that enchanting smile, "Home, at last~! This is where we belong, you know. Like this. Together."
Lips found their way to Latvian ones. Latching on, Peter slowly rolled on his back, pulling Raivis on top of him. His husband was fragile and light like the many feathers still fluttering in the air; it made his smile grow wider, his heart grow fonder.
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Distracted by heat and shape and heartbeat beneath his palms, he laughed when language seemed to fail him, fisting his hands in Peter's shirt, willing all of the things he wanted to say into a longer, probing kiss.
I love this city, I love this place, I love this life.
I love you.
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