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Violins rang out clearly, intermingling with the sound of a harp and flute. There they were, twin flames, in the middle of it all, dancing with one another. Dustfinger cradled Mortimer gently as if he were the flames he made sing with life, Mortimer treating Dustfinger like a tender, old book he would read again and again. They gazed into each other’s eyes, looking into their souls burning with fervent passions shared between the two– it seemed nothing would ever shatter this moment.
“You’re beautiful,” sighed the bookbinder, fondness hiding in the deep browns of his eyes. His breath was warm against Dustfinger’s lips as he leaned in closely, letting his eyelids flutter closed as he embraced the firedancer.
“I know.” They both smiled. While Mortimer never fully understood Dustfinger, his humour was something they partially shared, and that was enough; he would take anything he could get.
Dustfinger pulled Mortimer into a deep kiss, savouring the man’s lips like it was his last meal, his salvation– for Mortimer was something godly, something to be worshipped.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”