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Summary
“Sword of Lumiere,” he teased, voice warm and playful. “Fancy title, Si. Though you look like you’d rather be sketching flowers than soaking up the applause.”
Simon’s gaze flicked to Verso, and his smile softened, a quiet tenderness in his eyes that Verso knew was reserved for him. “It’s just a name,”
“Modest as ever,” Verso said, stepping closer, their proximity natural, unremarkable to anyone watching. He caught the faint scent of leather, earth, and something distinctly Simon—grounding, familiar. His eyes dropped to the sword, its hilt worn from years of use, and he tilted his head, voice lilting with playful innocence.
“Can I… hold it?” he asked, voice lilting with playful innocence, his cute smile—small and crooked—flashing up at Simon.
Simon’s chuckle was soft, his defenses crumbling under that smile, as always. “It’s heavy, Verso,”
Verso’s smile turned mischievous. He leaned in, lips brushing Simon’s ear, voice dropping to a sultry murmur.
“That’s not the sword I meant.”
Series
- Part 10 of Shy Shy Shy