[ Sylvain watches him unwrap his gifts with baited breath, grinning and the delighted laugh he gets at the scent of the pine that wafts from the tea blend. Nocwich’s pines weren’t quite the same as the Almyran kind Claude was more familiar with, he knows, but he hopes the other underlying scents are enough to make up for any differences. To say Sylvain was a bit of perfectionist when it came to throwing this blend was an understatement, but the look on Claude’s face when he breathes in the scent is enough to make it all worth it.
And then he moves onto the second one and by this time Sylvain is chewing on his lower lip as he watches. It’s evident the moment Claude realizes how the pieces are different by how still he goes, how he stares down at the pair of kings he holds in his palm. It’s enough to make Sylvain almost go back to fidgeting again.
But then Claude’s hands are pressed to either side of his face and he’s being tugged in for a kiss and he goes eagerly, because he rarely denies Claude anything, and certainly never this. His lips are warm and firm and he thinks there’s something different in this kiss. In the way Claude leans into him, in whatever the man is trying to express in the press of his lips.
It’s just gratitude, Sylvain tells himself, kissing him back deeply, letting one of his hands come to rest at the nape of Claude’s neck, even if there’s a wistful little shiver of pleasure that slides down his spine.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against the other man’s, his cheeks a little flushed and a warm, sheepish grin lingering on his lips as he meets bright green eyes. ]
Should I take that to mean you liked your presents, then?
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And then he moves onto the second one and by this time Sylvain is chewing on his lower lip as he watches. It’s evident the moment Claude realizes how the pieces are different by how still he goes, how he stares down at the pair of kings he holds in his palm. It’s enough to make Sylvain almost go back to fidgeting again.
But then Claude’s hands are pressed to either side of his face and he’s being tugged in for a kiss and he goes eagerly, because he rarely denies Claude anything, and certainly never this. His lips are warm and firm and he thinks there’s something different in this kiss. In the way Claude leans into him, in whatever the man is trying to express in the press of his lips.
It’s just gratitude, Sylvain tells himself, kissing him back deeply, letting one of his hands come to rest at the nape of Claude’s neck, even if there’s a wistful little shiver of pleasure that slides down his spine.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against the other man’s, his cheeks a little flushed and a warm, sheepish grin lingering on his lips as he meets bright green eyes. ]
Should I take that to mean you liked your presents, then?