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Summary
“Kyryll,” he starts, “don’t–”
Flins lifts his gaze, golden eyes molten. “What do you mean?”
Varka loses his words entirely as Flins watches his cheeks burn scarlet. The towel slides along both of Varka’s thighs before gently drying his calves.
When he’s finished, Flins rises, standing so close that their bodies brush against one another, their breaths intertwining. Standing on the tips of his toes, Flins leans into Varka’s neck, pressing a gentle, butterfly soft kiss onto the scarred skin.
“Come,” Flins says, his voice as soft as the flame of a candle. “There is more room in the bedroom.”
“That sounds like a good idea, little lamplight,” Varka replies, following a mere half-pace behind the Fae.Following the battle against Rerir, Grand Master Varka finally convinces Flins to take a much needed period of rest. When the light keeper protests, Varka takes matters into his own hands.
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Bookmark Notes:
c:light feeling, speed
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