[She hasn't bitten his lip yet this time, at least, but the way her fingers clutch at his shirt is certainly familiar. He's only grateful this time that she isn't crying, that the taste of salty tears is no longer on her skin. He hopes, perhaps, that he can take care of her well enough that she never has to cry like that again, pours that protective feeling into the kiss, a kiss that floods him with warmth, lights a fire deep inside him.
It's not a wildfire that could burn him inside out, as he's sometimes heard passion described. It's a comforting, gentle thing, something he wants to protect and nurture, lest the cold and the dark parts of Kenos try to extinguish it.
He draws back, gently pressing his forehead to hers, his hand moving along the fine line of her neck to her powerful shoulder. He doesn't want to forget this feeling, for as long as he lives.]
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It's not a wildfire that could burn him inside out, as he's sometimes heard passion described. It's a comforting, gentle thing, something he wants to protect and nurture, lest the cold and the dark parts of Kenos try to extinguish it.
He draws back, gently pressing his forehead to hers, his hand moving along the fine line of her neck to her powerful shoulder. He doesn't want to forget this feeling, for as long as he lives.]