#i simply think they should kiss and makeout after setting up camp for the day

[scr1mps]

yanshen fantasy au stuff

sq is a knight who meets a mysterious mage along the way...

[vaniri]

Eye of the storm [Arthur Morgan x Reader] - CHAPTER 2/2

[chapter 1]

warnings: angst *insert “ah shit here we go again” meme here*, smut 😏, tuberculosis is still there

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You opened your eyes and blinked a few times, trying to focus your blurred gaze on what was before you. This definitely wasn't your camp and you needed a moment to gather your thoughts and recall where you were. Saint Denis, yes. You had stayed here with Arthur, technically to wait until your horse rests after her injury, but also to catch your breath and spend some time together.

You lifted your head and looked at your beloved man, still sleeping, as you noticed. You rarely woke up before Arthur, so you considered yourself extremely lucky that morning. Not spurred to work by anyone, you could just lie in bed snuggled up to your him, simply enjoying his warmth and peaceful snoring (which you personally found rather adorable than disturbing). Sometimes you were just watching his face, so blissful and beautifully relaxed in his sleep, and taking in his handsome features. It was always a challenge for you to keep your hands to yourself and abstain from caressing his cheek, or touching his scarred chin, or dragging a finger along his pretty and tempting lips. But you didn't want to interrupt his sleep. Not like that, at least.

An idea crossed your mind. You could surprise Arthur and make it up to him for yesterday. Make him wake up with your lips on his hardening member. You smiled to yourself at that thought when your hand, previously lying calmly on his steadily rising and falling chest, started its unhurried journey down his abdomen. Your fingers toyed with the last button of his union suit, but you decided not to undo it yet. Instead, you grabbed his still clothed dick and gave it a few strokes. Arthur purred in his sleep, then let out a soft sigh, but didn't wake up. His expression became even more serene though, his face looked so adorable now... Ah screw it, you thought, withdrawing your hand. You can get him off properly later, now just let him sleep.

Somehow you managed to slip out of his embrace and get out of bed without waking him. It was ten after nine, you saw on the clock, so you should still have some time to wash Arthur's clothes, and maybe even take a bath. You dressed up quickly, braided your hair, and having decided to go for washing the clothes first (so they could dry a little before their owner wakes up), you snatched them from the sofa, where you had left them yesterday.

Something caught your attention on your way to the door. Your own reflection in a mirror hung above the washstand. You hardly ever looked at yourself; not because you didn't like your appearance, but you rather found futile staring at your own visage absolutely pointless. You didn't have many occasions to do so anyway, as there weren't many mirrors in the camp. That was probably why you didn't even know you had changed so much. All that stress you've been living with, due to Arthur's condition and the situation the gang wound up in, made you visibly thinner. Not very much, but you could clearly notice it. And your face, you were barely able to recognize yourself; it seemed so sad and so tired, even though you just woke up well-rested. One look into your sorrowful eyes made it abundantly clear that all that madness, especially Arthur's illness, was taking a toll on you as well.

You didn't have much time to muse about it, as loud and heavy coughing broke out unexpectedly behind your back. You turned around immediately and rushed to the bed, flinging the clothes you were holding back at the sofa. You sat beside Arthur, who was strenuously trying to force out what was burning in his lungs.

"Hey, [Y/N]." He gasped out when his fit finally subsided.

"Hey, love."

"You awake already?"

"As you see."

"Well, at least I didn't wake you." He smiled mirthlessly, stifling yet another cough.

"You okay? Want me to go get you some water?" You cradled his cheek, checking if he was feverish. Luckily, he wasn't abnormally warm, nor showed any signs of excessive sweating.

"No, it's fine. I'm fine." Arthur put his hand atop yours, trying to provide reassurance. "What was you looking at there?"

"What?"

"In the mirror. You was standing in front of it for a while."

"Oh. I thought you was sleeping."

"Not since you left the bed."

"I just... saw my face there and it got me thinking. How these last few months changed everything. Me and you, mostly." You let out a weary sigh. "I just wish... that things were different. Like they used to be. I really miss our old days."

"You and me both. But sadly, you fell for a complete idiot who ruined everything because he hardly ever thinks about the consequences of his actions. Who can hardly think at all." A grim smile flickered across his face when he took your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. "And here we are. We knew it would end like that, sooner or later. With me dying and you mourning me-"

"You are not dead." You cut him off sternly.

"But I will be. Soon, probably."

"Please don't say that."

"You know it's true, [Y/N]."

Yes, you did. But you never let this thought take hold of you. You couldn't even imagine losing Arthur, not having him beside you when you fall asleep, not seeing his face first thing in the morning; being unable to talk with him about what bugged you or celebrate your small victories of the day together. The mere thought of not having him in your life terrified you so much that the only thing you could do now was cling to him and burrow your face into his arm, trying to hold back tears pricking your eyes.

How much time together you had left, you wondered, how many mornings like that, when you could just sit and talk, not giving a shit about the world around you? How many times you'll be able to cuddle up to him and feel his warmth, before death rips him out of your embrace? You didn't know, you couldn't know, and that scared you the most.

"You are not dead." You repeated, raising your head, your voice quiet and trembling with emotion. "You are not dead."

You didn't even know when your lips found his, clashing against them in a desperate and messy kiss. You were aware that you could possibly contract TB this way, but at that very moment you couldn't care less about that. You needed Arthur, you needed to feel him, feel that he was indeed alive and here with you. So you were kissing him passionately until you felt light in your head, clinging to him even more after he took you in his arms and pressed tightly against his chest.

You straddled him and deepened the kiss, pushing your tongue into his welcoming mouth. Arthur was kissing you back like a starved man and you could feel his arousal grow with every second of your makeout. He couldn't keep his hands to himself and touched you wherever they could reach. You purred contentedly when they grabbed and squeezed your ass, rewarding your man with a solid rut against his bulge. He let out a shaky moan and bucked his hips up to feel more so needed friction, grinding his hardening length desperately against your still clothed crotch.

"I want you, Arthur." You gasped out, trying to catch your breath between moans his moves elicited. "Oh fuck..."

"I'll take you from behind." He suggested, kneading your rear again.

"No, I want to see your face."

"And I don't want to accidentally cough in yours."

You snorted softly, resting your forehead against his.

"Okay cowboy, fair enough. We'll do it your way." You pecked his nose and dismounted him, taking in the effect you had on your man. Disheveled, panting, and sprawled in suggestively crumpled sheets, with that ravenous gaze he was devouring you with and a noticeable bulge between his seductively spread legs, he was a sight to behold.

A vile idea crossed your mind while fumbling with your buckle. You could give Arthur a little show and reveal your body piece by little piece, take your clothes off in a tantalizingly slow pace to whet his appetite even more. But one look at him made it obvious that it was completely unnecessary; it's been weeks since you two made love, his appetite was worked up enough at this point. And yours too, so you abandoned that idea and undressed as quickly as you could, throwing your clothes at the sofa. You could have just carelessly slung them on the floor, but you had to set a good example for your cowboy. You may be in heat and still have some manners.

"You too." You pointed at his underwear with your chin. "Off with that, I want to see you naked."

You were watching in anticipation as he undid the buttons, one after another, and shrugged his union suit off his arms. When he made sure your eyes were riveted on him, he slid it past his hips, revealing his half hard dick. You moaned excitedly when he gave it a few strokes, before removing his underwear completely and throwing it towards the sofa with a satisfied grin.

He didn't waste any more time; before you even opened your mouth to beg him to finally fill you, he crawled to you, caught you in his arms, and tossed on the bed. He managed to steal one more kiss before he rolled you over and positioned exactly how he wanted you - with your chest pressed against the mattress and your ass in the air. At that point, even without any proper stimulation, you were wet and wanting as hell. Arthur sure noticed that, but even though, he still took time to prepare you for his thrusting. He slid two fingers along your dripping slit, only to put them in you a moment later. He pumped them into your cunt in a steady pace, reveling in your soft breathy moans, and when he made sure he had you ready and aching for more, he withdrew his fingers and aligned himself with your entrance. Before he slipped in, he slid his now so deliciously hard dick up and down between your folds a couple of times, letting out a shaky moan when you moved in unison with him.

He couldn't take it anymore, so he finally entered you, with a firm thrust that left you breathless. Before you regained even a semblance of your composure, Arthur grabbed your hips and withdrew from you almost completely, then pushed into you again with full force. You felt so good around his length that he was nearly unable to control himself. He began rocking into you almost immediately, every thrust deep and forceful, followed by his guttural groans. And a muffled cough from time to time.

It felt amazing to be filled with his cock again, to feel it move inside your cunt. You tried to buck your hips towards his to get even more delicious friction, but his firm grip kept you in place. He intended to use you as he pleased and damn, that was hot. So hot that you had to bury your face in the sheets your hands were desperately clutching to stifle your wailing. Arthur didn't particularly like that, so he suddenly slowed his thrusting and reached for your arms. He forced you to lift your head when he pulled you up and pressed your back against his still pretty muscular chest.

"Let me hear you." He whispered softly in your ear and you nodded, purring contentedly when his lips sucked on your neck, leaving a mark on your skin.

His hips sped up their movements again, setting a steady rhythm, while his lips continued peppering your neck and arm with tender kisses. You definitely liked this position better - you could be closer with Arthur, feel his warmth and rapid heartbeat; he could freely explore your body, and he eagerly did. His calloused palms were tracing your sides up and down and kneading your breasts, while he fucked you in earnest, murmuring sweet words in your ear. The angle of his thrusts was perfect, his cock was hitting the right spot and sending sparks of unadulterated pleasure through your entire body with every move. You loved every second of it and let your man know about that by repeatedly crying out his name, not giving a single damn about the fact that the patrons sitting currently in the saloon downstairs probably heard it all.

"I'm close." Arthur groaned out, pulling you even tighter against his body and holding in place by wrapping his arm around your neck.

His thrusts became erratic, his desperate pounding made slapping sounds against your skin. You felt his hot ragged breath on the back of your neck, where he buried his face in a moment later to muffle his loud moan as he came hard, spilling his warm seed inside your cunt. That feeling set you aflame, you were so close, but still needed some additional stimulation to reach your orgasm. You begged in your thoughts that Arthur's hand would find a way between your legs, slink in there to rub your clit and make you come undone on his throbbing dick. Sadly, nothing like that happened. Your cowboy rode his climax out completely and then unexpectedly slipped out of your heat, leaving you empty and so cruelly unsatisfied.

"I'm sorry, love. I need a moment." He explained with an apologetic smile as he lay down on his back, trying to catch his breath. He also coughed a few times, covering his mouth with his wrist.

"It's fine. I think I can help myself here." You decided, ogling his post-orgasm body from head to toe, and straddled him. You felt his semen dribble out of you slowly when you sat on his lap, and it made you even more aroused than before, but you waited patiently until he rested a while and calmed his breathing.

When he seemed ready, you positioned yourself above his slowly softening, but still hard enough for your purpose dick, and grinded against it. You found the perfect angle pretty quickly and set a satisfying pace, making your clit slide up and down his gently pulsing member with the right amount of pressure. To your delight, Arthur wasn't only passively watching you work up your bliss; he propped himself up on one elbow and reached to your breasts, caressing them and rubbing your nipples with his thumb.

"Oh shit, fucking hell! Arthur!" You sobbed as you sped up the movements of your hips, rutting your bud vigorously against his shaft, while his hand played with your tits. It didn't take long before you threw your head back and wailed uncontrollably, as your orgasm hit you hard and spread through your body, shaking it and leaving you completely breathless.

When your ecstasy subsided and your wits came back to you, you felt remorseful for getting so carried away with your emotions that you let your desire take over you completely. You shouldn't have done this. Your moment of pleasure might have provoked another violent coughing fit, or even caused Arthur to lose his consciousness and worsened his condition. But one look at your beloved man, lying under you as relaxed as he hadn't been in weeks and beaming a contented smile at you, washed your guilt away. That moment of respite from all that shit going on around you lately, when all the problems went away and you could feel like all that mattered was you two, was probably worth the risk.

"You okay there?" You asked, dismounting your cowboy and plopping down beside him.

"Better than okay."

"Yeah, I can see that." You dragged a finger across his deliciously hairy chest. "So I don't have to apologize for jumping at you like that?"

"No. If someone should apologize for anything here, it's probably me. [Y/N], I'm sorry if I made you upset with what I said before. But I just want to be sincere with you instead of pulling the wool over your eyes and lying that I could get better, just to give you false hope. I won't get better, [Y/N]. And you know that."

"I do" You admitted somberly. "but a part of me, that idiot one I suppose, still believes in a miracle. Less with every passing day, but I still do."

You sat up and moved closer to him, feeling your heart flutter in your chest under his tender gaze, full of unadulterated love. Your hand cupped his face, his two days' worth of stubble tickled your thumb affectionately caressing his cheek.

"I don't know what future will bring to us." You whispered softly. "But I know for sure that whatever happens, I'll stay with you till the end."

"I know, [Y/N]. I trust you."

You pressed your lips against his, threading your fingers through his messy hair. Arthur kissed you back, gently and slowly at first, like he always did when you were alone and in post-coital bliss, but it turned into passionate and heated kissing very quickly. You didn't even realize when you landed under him, trapped in his arms and pinned to the mattress by his warm body.

You had no idea how much time with your beloved man you had left, but in that moment you made a decision to cherish every second of it, instead of wasting it by succumbing to your fears.

[feralnoble]

scenarios

Dragalia Lost: Vixel + Fritz

Summary: a collection of kiss prompts

this is actually something I wrote a while ago, but figured I would add to my fic tag 

The first time they had kissed, well, Fritz didn’t quite think that it counted.

He remembers sitting at Vixel’s side, at the culmination of a long day, the setting sun warm on his face, the heat and adrenaline remnants of an earlier fight with fiends still thrumming through his veins, a steady, constant pulse. The spot on his thigh, where Vixel had blessed an open wound with healing magic in the middle of said fight, still felt alight with energy, tingling under the surface with the mana pulled into his skin to repair a wound he got from carelessness, from claws just catching flesh as he pulled away.

Vixel was good at keeping them all safe during fights, vigilant at the status of all of his companions in their small parties. Fritz liked traveling with Vixel the most, the mana he pulled when he cast spells felt warm, as soothing as his voice when it passed through him to patch up another wound. He could get drunk on that feeling.

Vixel was good at making him feel warm in ways other than his casting, too. Just being beside him made Fritz feel lucky, like the universe had given him a gift unintentionally, and had not yet realized its mistake. Confessing his feelings had been messy, uncoordinated for the usually silver-tongued performer, but Vixel still accepted them in kind, against all odds, and Fritz was ever thankful.

They took things slow. They held hands, touched legs or shoulders together when they sat close, rested a weary head upon a shoulder, and another atop. Things were soft, and warm, just like Vixel’s mana, and Fritz was drowning in it. He watched bubbles containing his affections rise to the surface and pop, and he never wanted to leave.

They had yet to kiss. Sometimes, Fritz would press his lips to the Vixel’s forehead, temple, or cheek, little affirmations, a bit of his own warmth, whenever he felt it appropriate. Little bubbles, popping on the surface. Vixel would always laugh, softly, sweetly, and he would smile, so Fritz felt his gestures were well welcomed.

After a day of fighting, Fritz felt one of these such gestures would be appropriate. Vixel was currently leaning against him, watching the fire spark before them, looking peaceful, and tired. Healing took a lot of energy, and Vixel was always delightfully sleepy after a tough fight, recharging the mana within him. Fritz wondered if he would be so surprised he would jump, would make one of the delightfully cute noises he often made. Vixel would shove him, lightly, tell him jokingly to stop being so brash around the rest of their companions.

Those thoughts in mind, enough to make Fritz grin to himself, he turned his head to place a quick kiss upon Vixel’s cheek.

Fritz did so, at the same moment Vixel had turned his own head to speak, and their lips had pressed together, awkwardly, sloppily.

It could hardly be considered a kiss, as neither of them had those intentions, and their mouths fit together wrong. Vixel’s lips had been parted in the form of words he never got to say, and Fritz’ were placed off-center, pressed to the corner of Vixel’s mouth.

But oh, was it warm, and did heat pool in his stomach.

Vixel’s eyes, blue, so awfully, deeply blue, were wide in surprise, meeting his own, of which Fritz wondered if they looked much the same, painted in shock.

Slowly, finally, Fritz gathered enough sense in his head to pull away, the slight catch of dry lips sticking them together for a brief moment as he did, and he could hardly resist the way his body shuddered.

Fritz licked his lips, absently, and regretted the gesture as he watched Vixel glance down at his mouth, then back up, redder than before. His traitorous tongue was thick and useless in his mouth, and the air in his lungs felt too weak to speak. He ran through speeches in his head, tried to think of sugary words to thread together to talk his way out of the mistake, as he was so adept at doing.

Able to rangle his thoughts earlier, Vixel spoke first, “I deeply apologize.” His voice was soft, taken with a slight breathlessness that Fritz was absolutely certain had become his favorite sound in that moment. He could listen to that tone of voice all day– and he would, if he had anything to do about it. If he could press kisses to Vixel’s mouth all day, take the air from his lips and make him speak, soft, heavy with desire, he would without hesitation.

He would like to hear how Vixel would sing, with his voice like that.

“My fault, sweetheart,” Fritz replied, when his tongue was compliant enough to form words.

He ran the tips of his fingers in little movements, small circles, against the back of Vixel’s hand, where it rested between them. As if he were worried Vixel would run off, as if this mistake would cause trouble between them. Vixel did not seem upset, simply surprised, but Fritz still felt anxiety bubble lightly beneath the surface of his skin, as if this would be how the universe realized its mistake, too much, too fast.

Vixel smiled at him, his face still pink, and Fritz felt the pull of relief at his heart, scolded himself for worrying so much, as he always did.

“Go makeout somewhere else!”

“Notte, be nice.”

Fritz laughed, and Vixel laughed at his side, musical, and sweet.

–

The first time they kissed, the first time they kissed for real, with intention, was a more somber experience, not fitting of the occasion.

Vixel sometimes felt he was too abrasive, that he was too mothering of some of the others in the Halidom. He was attentive to the needs of others, but could get frustrated, more huffy, when they continued to do foolish things against his advice. Especially when it came to Fritz, he felt he was too harsh, at times.

At first, Vixel did not question why he was so strict with Fritz out in the field, why he fretted so much over his actions in missions, how he clashed with fiends and enemy soldiers without a seeming care for his own safety. It was later that he learned that it was due to affection, that his worry stemmed from a desire to not see Fritz hurt.

Now that they were together, this desire had not ceased, and neither had Fritz’ tendency to completely ignore his warnings.

Fritz was confident in himself, and his pride was not misplaced. He was dangerously good at what he did, both in the ring and on the battlefield, and his shots always hit their target. At the end of battles, it always took Fritz longest to collect his weapons, buried in the corpses of so many different enemies at length across the area. And Fritz was always insistent that he must find each and every one of his knives, as they were important pieces to him, meant something to him.

Vixel was usually okay with this, often helped him look for the beautiful pieces. Today, they did so, while the rest of the party set up camp for the night.

It was during this search that a straggling fiend had showed up, detached from the rest of the group that the had dispatched earlier, gave a loud and bellowing roar, and had charged directly in Vixel’s direction.

Vixel could remember staring at the approaching danger, the dim thought in the back of his mind that his staff was laying on the ground some meters back, abandoned during their dagger search. His legs felt like lead under him, stiff and unresponsive, as was his voice, unable even to yell a warning to the rest of the group, or simply scream.

The next thing he knew in the fog of his unresponsive mind he was on the ground, but it was not a snarling fiend pressing him into the cold grass and dirt, it was a familiar man, with messy orange streaked hair, and a curious dark red falling down the sides of his face.

Fritz turned just enough to throw a set of knives they had already recovered into the body of the beast, with deadly precision, which howled in its pain, before dissolving into scattered mana and dust.

The heart in his chest beat wildly, and Vixel suddenly felt himself come into the realization that he was in danger, that he could have died. Above him Fritz swore under his breath, and there was more red, seeming so out of place against the pastel colors of his attire, and in the blond of his hair.

Creepingly, like the bloom of ice in his stomach, Vixel realized that red was blood.

“Fritz–”

Fritz turned back to look at him, with wide amber eyes, and bizarrely, a short laugh left his throat. “Thank Ilia,” he breathed, and leaned down to press their lips together.

It was hurried, and harsh, and felt like Fritz was trying to push his feelings into Vixel through his lips. He was warm, a thawing force against the dread in his stomach, and he melted, mouth opening just enough to reciprocate the hurried kiss. Vixel took a slow breath through his nose, wrapped his arms around Fritz’ neck, and let himself be soothed by the rhythmic movements of their kiss, the quick and harsh passing of lips, heated by fear, by the relief of being alive. It was sloppy, and unkempt, and oh so wonderful.

It was then Vixel felt the warmth against his finger tips, slippery and thick, and he remembered the red.

Vixel pulled away, quickly, moved his hands to the sides of Fritz’ face, “you’re hurt,” he said, trying not to wince at the red on his own fingers that now smeared against Fritz’ face.

“I’m okay,” Fritz insisted, leaning forward to chase Vixel’s lips, to try and kiss him once more. Vixel pushed him back, pressing his hands harder against his cheeks.

“No, you are not! Fritz, please, I do not wish to lose you.”

Fritz stared, momentarily, before the barest hint of a laugh left him. “I should be saying that to you. Don’t scare me like that. I won’t always be there to push you out of the way of crazed monsters.”

“And I don’t wish you to,” Vixel responded, as he slowly worked his way up off the ground, easing Fritz into a sitting position, earning a minimum of a few winces, and a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth. “Do not risk yourself for my sake.”

With an order to wait where he was, Vixel turned to find his staff, which still lay a small distance away. As he walked, he scrubbed at his hands, trying to remove the red stained upon them, from the blood of his companion. It made him feel sick, how warm it was against his skin, what it implied.

He walked a little faster to get his staff.

On his way back, Vixel was able to asses the damage from afar, to see the straight claw marks that tore Fritz’ clothes along his back, and had sunk into the flesh underneath. It was hard to see the extent of the damage under the blood, and that only made more ice bloom like flowers in his gut.

Vixel knelt by Fritz’ side, held his hand as he channeled the mana in his body into healing the bloody and broken skin. Healing could be a painful process, when the wounds were bad, at least for the first half, when the worst of the damage snapped back together, sinew and muscle shifting together, tied with tendons and blood vessels.

Vixel pressed his lips against Fritz’ temple, hummed a song against the skin through the pain, until he felt Fritz’ grip on his hand relax, and knew the worst of it was over. The mana should feel warm now, should soothe away the pain that lingered in the body, leave Fritz feeling tired, but whole.

When the last of the magic left him, Vixel leaned down, and kissed him, soft, and somber with relief.

–

Kissing Vixel was something Fritz had quickly become addicted to.

Every aspect of Vixel was perfect as he lay beneath him, pliant and warm, twitching with anxious energy. Every little noise that passed his lips, rosy and swollen with the force of their kissing, was nothing short of music to his ears.

Vixel was something akin to a supernova, and Fritz was hopeless to escape his gravity, the pull that encouraged him to press closer, knees tight on either side of Vixel’s hips, chests pushed as close together as the laws of physics would allow.

And his mouth, oh Ilia, his mouth was something not of their universe, was too soft, too wet, too hot, too eager to open up to him, to his exploring tongue, to let him brush along the insides of an area so sensitive behind his teeth.

When Vixel’s body shook under him it felt as if he were shifting mountains, causing earthquakes in the universe Vixel encapsulated, a world Fritz was so lucky to be able to visit, only to ravage it as he did. He ran his fingers over the plains of Vixel’s skin, dragged his nails and left scratches of red, felt the flesh warm under his palms. He pulled sounds from Vixel’s throat like the echoes of the wind, but muffled them with the ravages of his own mouth, stole what air he could from his perfect victim.

Vixel responded with sharp pulls of Fritz’ hair, by pressing his body up forcefully against his, and everywhere they touched was hot, so hot, Fritz was sure he would fall apart at the strength Vixel exuded over him.

Fritz had to pull away, finally, as much as he wished not to, to gasp air into his aching lungs, to soothe the fire that burned within them due to neglect as he favored kissing his partner.

“Fritz…”

And oh, the way Vixel was able to say his name, his voice hoarse and heavy, while his lips were still wet and swollen. What hope did Fritz have? He was nothing but a servant to the desires of this man, he knew it, there was nothing he could do to escape him, and truly, there was no reason why he would ever want to.

“My love,” Fritz responded in a soft mumble, pressed his nose against Vixel’s throat, grinned at the gasp he earned. Vixel was always so weak to pet names, and Fritz was always willing to employ a trick or two to piece the hearts of his targets.

With Vixel, he hadn’t missed yet.

–

Of all their kisses, the best ones were the ones in the mornings, when the light was pink and orange, and creeped across the bed their shared in thin lines, distorting the floor and furniture into it’s own unique world, where everything felt safe, and everything was okay.

Vixel would hug himself a little closer to Fritz, bury his face in his pillow, wonder how he ever got to be so lucky. Vixel had spent a majority of his life convinced he would never be in a situation like this, at least, not the way he wanted. He imagined one day he might settle down with a woman out of some kind of seeming obligation, even though he had never felt an attraction toward the opposite gender before. Secretly, wantingly, he had always wanted to be in the arms of another man, but knew that possibility to be one outside his reach, a universe among thousands of other universes, a probability so small it should be zero.

He had many adoring fans, but as far as he was aware they were all women. They would profess thinking him attractive, confess to wanting a date with him, to wanting more.

Vixel considered himself a romantic, but he always envisioned himself in cohorts with a man, and that had always been the fatal flaw in his life story.

Until now, it seemed, and this he could almost akin to a dream, wondering in these light-drenched mornings if he would wake up in his own bed, alone, if he opened his eyes again.

When he did, Fritz was still beside him, and his heart felt full.

The light from the cracks in the curtain painted shadows along Fritz’ face, and Vixel wondered what words he could use to say that he thought him beautiful. Fritz always outplayed him in matters of words, and Vixel yearned to be able to express his affections more clearly, in a way he had not yet managed.

For now, he told his story with gestures, pushing loose strands of hair from Fritz’ face, smiling when he slowly woke from sleep. Vixel kissed him, gently with closed lips, and reveled in how his smile was contagious.

“Mornin’,” Fritz would say, and Vixel thought the way his voice fell deep with sleep was a truly beautiful sound.

“Good morning,” Vixel would reply, leaving butterfly kisses along whatever inch of skin he could reach, slow and lazy, until the sunlight from the window went from pink, to orange, to yellow.