Nothing could possibly soothe the desperate longing of wanting to see them, to feel them, to be by their side, and each time the sun sets Finn finds his way into warm arms.
Whenever they’re together a slow, dull ache settles in the pit of his stomach at the realization that they will not be with him forever.
So he savors it, savors them, because human life is short and cruel, and if he can love them even for the shortest time then he’ll do it right.
Finn is cold but they are warm, and theendless touching sates him, the heat, the stuttered groans, the careful arch of their spines as they move as one.
Damn everything else, because this is all he wants to do for the rest of his endless life.
A torrent of desire echoes in his mind, two voices sighing his name, lips wet and eager against his skin. Toes that curl and fingers that fist crumpled sheets, and Finn commits it all to memory.
He counts the freckles that sweep across Ezra’s nose, the dusting that trails over his shoulders and the tops of strong arms, and russet skin glows softly in the flickering candlelight. He’ll never get over the green of his eyes, the way they rival the shine of even the brightest emerald, and sometimes Finn could swear he holds the galaxy in that gaze when he looks at him.
The Hunter is just as beautiful, an abundance of silvering scars a map upon soft skin that Finn traces with tongue and teeth, and nobody could ever quench his thirst quite like they can. Their blood is an elixir, the sweetest nectar he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting as fangs find supple flesh.
His lovers drive him to madness, an unbidden, aching desire that nothing else could ever rival. To hold, to kiss, to fuck, to love, a raw and desperate need that sings inside him and tells him to never let them go.
So he holds them tighter, loves them harder, and he asks the universe to capture this moment and every one that comes after so that he may never forget them.
Dark ombré
hair spills over their pillow, stray strands curling at their forehead and sleep-flushed cheeks. A long leg has escaped the tangle of the sheets, their nightshirt rising high and revealing smooth, pale skin, and August is beautiful.
They look peaceful, their eyelids flickering, and the Hunter wonders what they might be dreaming about. There’s a stark difference between the August that wanders the waking world and this one, and they seem weightless, peaceful, a distinct lack of an accusatory curled lip or eyes that roll.
The Hunter sighs, content to watch them, the steady and slow rise and fall of their chest, and they can’t resist reaching out to brush one of those snarled wisps of hair from their face.
A nose twitch, then a smile, and with great effort August opens their eyes.
“You caught me,” the Hunter smirks, watching as August rolls and raises their arms high above their head with a contented sigh as their bones click back into their rightful place.
“I caught you. Were you enjoying the show?”
They tilt their chin, and the Hunter knows that cue, leaning in to press their mouths together in a kiss that tastes like last nights wine, sweet, tart, delicious. August pulls his bottom lip between their teeth, drawing the limb that had escaped the confines of the bedsheet up around his waist.
Without thinking, the Hunter’s fingers are finding the buttons of their shirt, undoing them one by one until soft cotton falls open, a delicious and tempting warmth radiating off them.
He smiles against August’s lips as their hips hitch against his own, thinking about how these lazy mornings always turn into something urgent, explorative.
They can’t help it. This thing between them is too new, and they still have too many things about each other to discover, freckles and curves to memorize.