There was no question. There was a pause. But then he lifted his chin and she bent hers, and their lips met, soft. He closed his eyes but she did not, for a while; she concentrated hard on the curve of his features, and felt his breath quicken and shudder even under so gentle a caress. She drew back from him, pale and uncertain. He was equally white and drawn.
‘Is it alright?’ asked Althaer, uncertain. ‘I haven’t hurt you?’
For answer, he reached for her and drew her to him once more. His fingers were icy cold but his mouth was warm, and this time when she kissed him, or as he kissed her, the elf relaxed in it, allowed it. She settled beside him and brushed his hair back, and laughed to see his lashes flutter wide as she stroked the tangled black strands, always so elusive and ruffled.
Continue reading at Wallie’s Wentletrap