He stills. Over her, around her, he stills. Look at her features in a rapture.
This is so unbelievably precious a thing. Small and fragile, Aphrodite herself had blessed him with it, he was sure, though he had not ever given offerings enough to sway her favour in such a way.
His voice is rough - but it's neither lust nor anger, in truth he doesn't know what it is. "Athessa..."
There isn't a complete absence of fear and doubt in her — as ever there is a thin tendril that worms its way through the cracks, tries to whisper fell nothings into her ears and sow seeds of uncertainty — but what fears she has and what doubts she has pale in comparison to the love that threatens to burst from her chest. To split her apart at the seams with not a bang but a soft sigh.
He doesn't have to say it to her. She knows he loves her, even if he doesn't have the words. He says it in the way he looks at her, the way he touches her, the way he saved her. He is a creature of war and pain but there is gentleness that he bestows on her and that alone is enough.
"I love you," she says again, mapping his face with her fingers. She could be struck blind and still see that face with touch alone. If she was smiling before, her face splits into a grin now, barely containing the joy that illuminates her from saying three simple syllables. It's like a fire ignited, its smoke stinging her eyes with happy tears and she can't not say it again: "I. Love. You."
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This is so unbelievably precious a thing. Small and fragile, Aphrodite herself had blessed him with it, he was sure, though he had not ever given offerings enough to sway her favour in such a way.
His voice is rough - but it's neither lust nor anger, in truth he doesn't know what it is. "Athessa..."
no subject
He doesn't have to say it to her. She knows he loves her, even if he doesn't have the words. He says it in the way he looks at her, the way he touches her, the way he saved her. He is a creature of war and pain but there is gentleness that he bestows on her and that alone is enough.
"I love you," she says again, mapping his face with her fingers. She could be struck blind and still see that face with touch alone. If she was smiling before, her face splits into a grin now, barely containing the joy that illuminates her from saying three simple syllables. It's like a fire ignited, its smoke stinging her eyes with happy tears and she can't not say it again: "I. Love. You."
And she kisses him, laughing.