I wasn't exactly looking at marriage, anyway. Not really my style.
[ not like this, not in this place. a vampire marriage can be so different anyway, and though he calls armand husband nothing binds them but their history and their many, many years staying linked together.
up close like this he looks down at the bridge, the line of harry's nose, his stubbled jaw, the hard set of his mouth. one that had been full of vitriol before but one now he looks at and considers what the words of the gifted books would sound like on his tongue. yes, this place is doing something to make the decrepit chapel feel warmer but he doesn't seem to notice the very moment harry's hands smooth along his waist.
it's always been erotic in its own right to feel the press of broad hands there, and he allows the tug at his thighs, back hitting the tree eliciting a low, rumbling moan. his arms come up out of habit, wrapping around harry's neck, his back arching once they're there, pressing their bodies closer, grinding his ass against the other's hips. ]
Ravioli, huh? Mine's praline. Come here.
[ he won't use it, won't need it, and chose this word on the spot for this moment. a new orleanian delicacy, a sweet he longs to remember the taste of. instead he chases it in harry's mouth, closing the distance and biting first with blunt teeth at the swell of his lip before kissing him, uncaring if he comes back tasting metal and harry twined together. ]
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[ not like this, not in this place. a vampire marriage can be so different anyway, and though he calls armand husband nothing binds them but their history and their many, many years staying linked together.
up close like this he looks down at the bridge, the line of harry's nose, his stubbled jaw, the hard set of his mouth. one that had been full of vitriol before but one now he looks at and considers what the words of the gifted books would sound like on his tongue. yes, this place is doing something to make the decrepit chapel feel warmer but he doesn't seem to notice the very moment harry's hands smooth along his waist.
it's always been erotic in its own right to feel the press of broad hands there, and he allows the tug at his thighs, back hitting the tree eliciting a low, rumbling moan. his arms come up out of habit, wrapping around harry's neck, his back arching once they're there, pressing their bodies closer, grinding his ass against the other's hips. ]
Ravioli, huh? Mine's praline. Come here.
[ he won't use it, won't need it, and chose this word on the spot for this moment. a new orleanian delicacy, a sweet he longs to remember the taste of. instead he chases it in harry's mouth, closing the distance and biting first with blunt teeth at the swell of his lip before kissing him, uncaring if he comes back tasting metal and harry twined together. ]