i could pretend to be real tonight
For a moment, he’s hesitant.
It’s almost as if the old Aion is back, the pre-Eros Aion who feared touch and leaned away from every kiss and every caress. It’s been so long he’s almost forgotten what it feels like, or perhaps he cannot remember how to accept love, and it’s like their first time all over again.
But if Eros notices the hesitation, he doesn’t show it. He showers Aion with caresses and kisses freely, and each one feels like a breath of fresh air after days without breathing. Because that’s what it’s been like: Aion has been suffocating, drowning without water. Living without his amour was as if he was living without his lungs - or perhaps, even more fittingly, his heart. That was what Eros was to him: he was more than just the love of his life. Without Eros, he had no way to love.
But now, there would be no more waiting, no more searching; no more cold nights spent alone with only his dreams to make him forget the chill.
He leans into Eros’ touch, hardly daring to believe that this moment was real. After so many days and months of searching, of wishes and dreams and memories - it seems surreal. And when the effeminate man leans into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and resting his head against his, Aion closes his eyes in repose.
“I love you.”
But just saying it wasn’t enough. Eros had always showed his love - and Aion perhaps was finally starting to understand why. He lifts his head, and there’s his hesitation again: a slight, nervous flutter of his heart, a moment’s pause with his muzzle hovering less than an inch away.
But then he remembers all the time they’d spent away, and all the kisses they missed, and the hesitation vanishes.
He presses his mouth to Eros’ temple, his throat, his cheek, and finally his lips. He kisses anywhere he can reach, loving the taste and the feeling of his skin, how solid and warm and soft and real he is.
He opens his eyes, and there’s so many emotions he’s feeling that he can’t seem to pick one to focus on.
“You know, there’s a party going on,” he murmurs, but he’s far less worried than his words suggest. Already his head is falling back to its resting place against Eros’, as if he can’t stand to be more than a few seconds without his touch. It wouldn’t matter if they went back or stayed, or if they found somewhere new to go. What mattered was that they had found each other.
@eros
see I did it
text. talk.
empluvie art
