He’d seen love twist and break and ruin the people affected by it. He’d seen how love could turn even the best intentions sour, how it could morph into obsession if left unchecked. He’d seen what happened when flames turned to ashes swept away by the wind.
He’d seen all that, but he hadn’t known. Teomitl had taught him better. Had taught him that love could lighten his heart, that he could feel both held and free in the circle of Teomitl’s arms. That when Teomitl pressed delicate little shivery kisses along his neck he’d laugh—because it tickled, because he was happy—even as he arched for more.
That it made Teomitl chuckle too, the sound rich and warm in his ear. “I love hearing you like that. I wish I could bottle it and carry it around with me.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, and there was freedom in that too; he could say things like that, and for once know there was someone who wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Who’d made the decision to trust him, and be trusted in return.
“I’m serious!” Teomitl huffed, but a grin was starting to peek through anyway.
It was too much to resist. Acatl twisted in his lover’s arms, laughing into a breathless kiss as they rolled across the mat in a tangle of sheets and cloaks. When they stopped he was on top, hair hanging in his face—he’d lost his hair tie at some point—and almost obscuring his view of Teomitl’s grin. But moving to push it back again would mean letting go of the man, and that would never do.
Teomitl took care of it for him, fingers tangling in heavy waves and brushing softly against his cheek. “Oh look,” he murmured happily, “it’s the best view in Tenochtitlan.”
He was wrong. The best view in Tenochtitlan, Acatl knew, was the one in front of him.
Obsidian & Blood, Acatl/Teomitl
He’d seen love twist and break and ruin the people affected by it. He’d seen how love could turn even the best intentions sour, how it could morph into obsession if left unchecked. He’d seen what happened when flames turned to ashes swept away by the wind.
He’d seen all that, but he hadn’t known. Teomitl had taught him better. Had taught him that love could lighten his heart, that he could feel both held and free in the circle of Teomitl’s arms. That when Teomitl pressed delicate little shivery kisses along his neck he’d laugh—because it tickled, because he was happy—even as he arched for more.
That it made Teomitl chuckle too, the sound rich and warm in his ear. “I love hearing you like that. I wish I could bottle it and carry it around with me.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, and there was freedom in that too; he could say things like that, and for once know there was someone who wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Who’d made the decision to trust him, and be trusted in return.
“I’m serious!” Teomitl huffed, but a grin was starting to peek through anyway.
It was too much to resist. Acatl twisted in his lover’s arms, laughing into a breathless kiss as they rolled across the mat in a tangle of sheets and cloaks. When they stopped he was on top, hair hanging in his face—he’d lost his hair tie at some point—and almost obscuring his view of Teomitl’s grin. But moving to push it back again would mean letting go of the man, and that would never do.
Teomitl took care of it for him, fingers tangling in heavy waves and brushing softly against his cheek. “Oh look,” he murmured happily, “it’s the best view in Tenochtitlan.”
He was wrong. The best view in Tenochtitlan, Acatl knew, was the one in front of him.