(Untitled)
Reading, on the couch, is one of Villiers' favourite activities.
Even more so, now, that he has the perfect cuddlepartner when doing so.
"Ode 22," he reads. And smiles.
A kiss, to the top of Imriel's head. "Quite befitting of you, I must say."
And he reads:
"Integer vitae scelerisque purus ( Read more... )
Even more so, now, that he has the perfect cuddlepartner when doing so.
"Ode 22," he reads. And smiles.
A kiss, to the top of Imriel's head. "Quite befitting of you, I must say."
And he reads:
"Integer vitae scelerisque purus ( Read more... )
Comments 79
If it weren't for the fact that he refuses to be noisy while listening to poetry, Imriel would be purring right about now.
Pity he's forgotten most of the good D'Angeline poetry, or he could return the favour. Something of Anafiel Delaunay's, perhaps. O dear my lord... he grins silently and presses a kiss to Villiers' collarbone, tucking his head under the older man's chin.
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"It's so rare, in my time, to find someone who actually appreciates Classical poems," he murmurs. "Geniuses in their own right, masters of their own craft."
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He twists his head to aim an impish smirk in Villiers' direction.
"A few hundred years or a few thousand is something of a difference."
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He smiles as he looks down.
"Were these educational texts, then, by that time? Or was Catullus a collection of bawdy lyrics and obsessive stalking?"
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Or maybe a few days earlier. Who knows. It's Millitime. Physics is fluid.
Villiers sits on the couch, watching the latest Doctor Who.
Because in the end, he's still a sci-fi fan.
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His shirt is buttoned three short of the top, and slightly rumpled.
There are grass stains on his trousers.
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And then, a raised eyebrow at Imriel's appearance.
The TV gets switched off, and now there's a Villiers walking towards him. Tsking, amusedly.
"Well, now, what do we have here..."
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"I went for a walk," he mumbles, stepping forward to give Villiers an extraordinarily thorough kiss hello.
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