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He's in fucking Velen trudging through the mud after drowners when he feels it. A slight pressure over his pulse point, hidden under his glove. The warm press of lips to his skin, transferred through the matching runes tattooed there, is so achingly familiar.
It's enough to lift his spirits. Enough to carry him through the hunt, knowing that Coën is out there, somewhere, thinking of him, sending his affection through the runes that bind them more securely than marriage vows.
He finishes the hunt with renewed determination, eager to find his way back to his beloved Griffin.
Coën feels the familiar sensation of fingertips trailing whisper-light over his wrist. It makes him shiver, a pulse of arousal shooting through him.
Ivo doesn't tease him like that when there is a chance it could distract him in a fight. He knows that Coën is safe, and so he must be here.
Coën glances around the square, and there, leaning against the wall of the tavern, gloves tucked into his belt to bare his hands, is Ivo, watching him with dark eyes.
Neither of them can get out of town fast enough. Both too eager to be rid of the crowds, they rush through their purchases, then hurry off to the clearing Ivo had found on his way to town.
There, they come together as they have longed to for months, skin pressed to skin and hands gripping at each other.
When their coupling is done and they lay tangled on their bedrolls, Ivo takes Coën’s hand in his, pressing kisses to his knuckles like a supplicant before their lord. He is so tender that Coën almost cannot bear it.
"My love," the Griffin murmurs, turning Ivo's hand so that he can kiss the rune that binds them, feeling the echo of it on his own skin.