48th of Frost, 4621
For most of his waking hours since the day Arkash had single-handedly obliterated and devoured the entirety of Degare’s staff, he’d been occupied with what he’d only refer to as ‘a project’ in the study that he’d initiated Degare within. Though he’d asked Degare and Lucia to leave his work be, he’d certainly taken measures to ensure no solid information could be gathered from the various pieces of evidence he left scattered about the various surfaces. All one could conclude was that it involved Necromancy.
It was late into the night that Arkash joined the elf under the covers. Something of a giddy smile pulled at his features as he climbed into bed and crawled a little closer to the elf before he wrapped his arms around the taller man from behind, and pulled his chest to rest flush to Degare’s back. He rested that way for a while longer as the night began to yield to the start of the day.
Around the time that the first rays of sun touched his skin, he began to rouse from his brief sleep. The catch of light in his eyes stirred him briefly, and with willpower alone, he forced his groggy mind to wake while he clung to the elf.
A smile began to crawl across his features while he stared, then pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. His hand drifted up the elf’s body to gently squeeze his pectoral while he pressed his front flush to the elf’s back. If Degare did not immediately begin to wake, Arkash would continue to press gentle kisses to his fair-skinned neck until he did wake, and even then, he’d continue to shower the older man with his affection.
When he finally stopped, he lowered his mouth a little to redirect his morning breath and spoke a soft “Good morning, Cariad,” with a distinct softness to that last word, which was spoken in a tone that all but dripped with endearment.
“…And happy Birthday,” he spoke with a rise to his tone, and squeezed the man a little tighter with a press of his palm on the elf’s chest. “I made you something,” he spoke softly, voice weighty with sleep. “It’s not breakfast in bed because I’m… a terrible cook," he confessed with a yawn that drew tears to his eyes. "But I think it’s even better… than food…” he continued with a blatant attempt to make the offer more appealing in his tone; a tone that was muffled by the encumberment of exhaustion that accompanied a lack of sleep.
A moment longer was spent basking in the morning’s warmth before he fell silent, still clinging to the elf while his sleep resumed.
For most of his waking hours since the day Arkash had single-handedly obliterated and devoured the entirety of Degare’s staff, he’d been occupied with what he’d only refer to as ‘a project’ in the study that he’d initiated Degare within. Though he’d asked Degare and Lucia to leave his work be, he’d certainly taken measures to ensure no solid information could be gathered from the various pieces of evidence he left scattered about the various surfaces. All one could conclude was that it involved Necromancy.
It was late into the night that Arkash joined the elf under the covers. Something of a giddy smile pulled at his features as he climbed into bed and crawled a little closer to the elf before he wrapped his arms around the taller man from behind, and pulled his chest to rest flush to Degare’s back. He rested that way for a while longer as the night began to yield to the start of the day.
Around the time that the first rays of sun touched his skin, he began to rouse from his brief sleep. The catch of light in his eyes stirred him briefly, and with willpower alone, he forced his groggy mind to wake while he clung to the elf.
A smile began to crawl across his features while he stared, then pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. His hand drifted up the elf’s body to gently squeeze his pectoral while he pressed his front flush to the elf’s back. If Degare did not immediately begin to wake, Arkash would continue to press gentle kisses to his fair-skinned neck until he did wake, and even then, he’d continue to shower the older man with his affection.
When he finally stopped, he lowered his mouth a little to redirect his morning breath and spoke a soft “Good morning, Cariad,” with a distinct softness to that last word, which was spoken in a tone that all but dripped with endearment.
“…And happy Birthday,” he spoke with a rise to his tone, and squeezed the man a little tighter with a press of his palm on the elf’s chest. “I made you something,” he spoke softly, voice weighty with sleep. “It’s not breakfast in bed because I’m… a terrible cook," he confessed with a yawn that drew tears to his eyes. "But I think it’s even better… than food…” he continued with a blatant attempt to make the offer more appealing in his tone; a tone that was muffled by the encumberment of exhaustion that accompanied a lack of sleep.
A moment longer was spent basking in the morning’s warmth before he fell silent, still clinging to the elf while his sleep resumed.