Arlaed. The bond was formed—as their bloodied palms pressed together and squeezed, their fingers fitting into the space between each of the other's opposite hand, the cut they had made sealed over and the bleeding ceased. Along that slice formed a line of silvery, shimmering skin, which slowly contorted into a tapestry of shapes: Sil'Norai markings, like the ones Taelian used to have on his face before he obscured them out of shame. The man leaned in to kiss his lover as he said the word Arlaed, before slowly unbinding their hand and turning his own palm over so he could look at the lucent, semi-transparent tapestry. It looked almost like horned antlers were going towards the center of his palm from the sides, and Ford would have the same exact mark. All Arlaed markings were different, and some theorized that each had their own meaning, but it was impossible to know. This was theirs.
After getting to look, he brought their hands back together, knocked the knife out of Ford's hand, and held their remaining hands against one another, too. Pulling his husband in, he pressed their foreheads together and looked him in the eye, parting his lips and breathing softly against his features. "My Arlaed..." he whispered. "The Gods brought me to you, of that I am certain. We belong to each other, in some unknown way, and being with you is like finally living for the first time. I want to say so much more... but you deserve a good meal."
He held Ford and pulled both of them down again, grabbing plates and preparing each strip. They were well-done by then, but it didn't really matter to him. Taelian ate quickly, just satisfied to be in the company of the man he loved more than anything in the world. He watched him as he ate, every movement of his lips, all the ways his eyes darted and his lashes curtained his wonderful blue gaze. Taelian finished first, and once he did, he crawled over to kiss Ford's neck again and again, breathing in his scent and softly whispering his name.
When they were done eating, Taelian pinned his husband to the floor, kissing him with all the fury of a man who loved as deeply and passionately as he did. He laid against Ford for a while, chest-to-chest, making out with him and holding him, caressing his frame. In those moments, regardless of whatever feeling tugged at him around the Arlaed, everything simply and finally made sense.
