( He returns it gladly, caressing his cheek, as is his heart's wont. )
Then I'll be excited, but I'll be good and wait. ( His eyes shine with anticipation... He does want it now, but!!! ) You better nap for a good while, okay?
( And of course, as always, he says yes. His hand slips down from Ish's cheek, finding the hand that tapped his ring finger, and pressing a kiss to Ish's ring finger in turn, as if that were its pair.
He won't even ask for a reward for being good, because Ish napping is, in a way, a reward for him, too. And if they didn't have a very mortal child, Hwyl would settle down with Ish for a good few decades, at the very least... So just A Very Long Nap will have to do. )
We~ll, if you want it tha~t badly . . .
( As if he didn't plan this entire time to give his gift to Ish now that they're free to just be as they are!!
He interlocks their fingers, somewhere in the sound of rain the gentle roar of ocean; somewhere in the soothing waters the spray of waves. Hwylryn presses his lips to Ish's neck without explanation, trailing down along the curve, sweet and soft and full of affection. And for a second - for a moment - it feels as if it's just them in the air; the breeze carrying in mist; the mist carrying in salt; like Hwyl had somehow stolen them away somewhere else - somewhere that resembles the depths of his fathomless heart.
His teeth sink in. He does not bite so much as he crunches into flesh, a procedure so raw in its strength and yet clinically mindful not to destruct the bone or stem or artery - he does not hope to kill Ish. Of course! He is sincere about their pledges into eternity. But a soft, happy mmmmh sinks into flesh, and his teeth scrape and split the open wound, swallowing what spare blood and flesh there is to keep, and the rain thunders overwhelming - not so much a shower but a baptism; a wave that crashes; a beast that swallows.
And with all this, the drama, the theatre, Ish will find the rain drenches the wound and steals away into him - not so much the water but the essence of that ocean, that breeze, that rain; the presence of it slips away into his blood to greedily circulate through his heart, to beat with him, always. )
My scent.
( There's a sing-song in his voice he hasn't had in a little while, an anxious excitement spill out of him and into Ish (and that's the weather!) - all of this an expression of his joy, his anticipation; he could have done it in no way less dramatic because that would not have been authentic to how intense he feels! The way he loves is this!!!!
He licks the wound, suckling at the gash with his lips and teething it light - affectionate and fond. Beneath the rain, Ish's wound can heal into a more manageable state if Ish allows it - but, if his heart would rather leave it be, then it will stay precisely as it is, Hwylryn nursing it with affection. )
I don't put my name on things the same way. ( Kissing at the glistening red, the sweetly torn meat along the interior of skin... His Ish, his Ish... inside and out. ) But all of this is me. So I hope you don't mind carrying it with you.
( Like the faint scent of incense, the scent of breeze and rain and ocean will hang about Ish like a haze - coiling like Hwylryn would: clingy, and - as of quite recently, courtesy of Ish - possessive. )
cw :catbite: (also, brief cannibalism sorta and slight gore)
Then I'll be excited, but I'll be good and wait. ( His eyes shine with anticipation... He does want it now, but!!! ) You better nap for a good while, okay?
( And of course, as always, he says yes. His hand slips down from Ish's cheek, finding the hand that tapped his ring finger, and pressing a kiss to Ish's ring finger in turn, as if that were its pair.
He won't even ask for a reward for being good, because Ish napping is, in a way, a reward for him, too. And if they didn't have a very mortal child, Hwyl would settle down with Ish for a good few decades, at the very least... So just A Very Long Nap will have to do. )
We~ll, if you want it tha~t badly . . .
( As if he didn't plan this entire time to give his gift to Ish now that they're free to just be as they are!!
He interlocks their fingers, somewhere in the sound of rain the gentle roar of ocean; somewhere in the soothing waters the spray of waves. Hwylryn presses his lips to Ish's neck without explanation, trailing down along the curve, sweet and soft and full of affection. And for a second - for a moment - it feels as if it's just them in the air; the breeze carrying in mist; the mist carrying in salt; like Hwyl had somehow stolen them away somewhere else - somewhere that resembles the depths of his fathomless heart.
His teeth sink in. He does not bite so much as he crunches into flesh, a procedure so raw in its strength and yet clinically mindful not to destruct the bone or stem or artery - he does not hope to kill Ish. Of course! He is sincere about their pledges into eternity. But a soft, happy mmmmh sinks into flesh, and his teeth scrape and split the open wound, swallowing what spare blood and flesh there is to keep, and the rain thunders overwhelming - not so much a shower but a baptism; a wave that crashes; a beast that swallows.
And with all this, the drama, the theatre, Ish will find the rain drenches the wound and steals away into him - not so much the water but the essence of that ocean, that breeze, that rain; the presence of it slips away into his blood to greedily circulate through his heart, to beat with him, always. )
My scent.
( There's a sing-song in his voice he hasn't had in a little while, an anxious excitement spill out of him and into Ish (and that's the weather!) - all of this an expression of his joy, his anticipation; he could have done it in no way less dramatic because that would not have been authentic to how intense he feels! The way he loves is this!!!!
He licks the wound, suckling at the gash with his lips and teething it light - affectionate and fond. Beneath the rain, Ish's wound can heal into a more manageable state if Ish allows it - but, if his heart would rather leave it be, then it will stay precisely as it is, Hwylryn nursing it with affection. )
I don't put my name on things the same way. ( Kissing at the glistening red, the sweetly torn meat along the interior of skin... His Ish, his Ish... inside and out. ) But all of this is me. So I hope you don't mind carrying it with you.
( Like the faint scent of incense, the scent of breeze and rain and ocean will hang about Ish like a haze - coiling like Hwylryn would: clingy, and - as of quite recently, courtesy of Ish - possessive. )