Erian's lips trembled against Seirion's, clumsy and inexperienced. It wasn't skill that mattered, but the absolute surrender of Erian, who had suffered so much and yet still dared to take that step toward him.
Seirion felt every shiver of Erian's body. His hands, still damp with tears, clung to the fabric of his tunic as if afraid that letting go would make him disappear.
Erian gave himself to the contact, hesitant, unsure, but with a burning need to be accepted, to be loved.
The god closed his eyes, allowing that trembling touch to etch itself into his memory. He had sworn never to touch him without permission, never to claim anything Erian did not wish to give. Yet here he was, receiving the sweetness of lips that trembled but did not pull away.
Erian's fragility was palpable beneath his hands. Seirion felt his ragged breathing, the faint trembling of his shoulders, the tension that cut through him as if every second were a battle against fear.
