Work Text:
It began to rain as they rode south from Rockaxe Castle. A gentle mist that kissed Miklotov's face, bedewed his clothes. This was an early morning jaunt, with no true destination, so when Camus veered eastward, Miklotov followed.
They came to an orchard. As his horse carried him under the sheltered canopy, Camus reached up and picked a plump peach from the bough of a tree. He bit into it, eyes closing in the sweetest pleasure.
Miklotov urged his horse closer. He leaned across and captured Camus’s lips, tasting the juice that lingered upon them, the nectar of Camus’s adoration.