[ And though the apology isn't exactly necessary, Will listens to each earnest plea for atonement. They make their way into his heart and nestle deep within it, all while it cradles the knowledge that Strohl held such unflinching faith in him. That same faith is precisely what allows Will to lean on him, to trust in each future reassurance that Strohl will inevitably offer.
It is his heart, the one that stuttered in his chest when Strohl first stepped before him at the recruitment center in his defense, the one that swelled as his companion bent his knee to lift the Euchronian crown into his hands.
But in truth, Will holds every word that ever leaves Strohl's lips close to his heart, including his companion's confessed appreciation for his free-spiritedness. It's a good thing then, Will thinks, that such a trait seems to come naturally to him, one who'd been born from the prince's desire to someday witness Euchronia's lands and to traverse them with his own two feet. ]
It's okay. You can start now.
[ His hand is warm in Strohl's grasp. Their fingers intertwine as he feels himself secured, a humble ship moored to a dock sturdy enough to weather any storm that might strike the shore. Should he ever lose his way, he need only look towards the light in Strohl's amber eyes, for they cut through the night, guiding his ship home where he will never need to doubt his own identity. This hand in Strohl's grasp -- it is his, and his alone.
Warmth rises in his own cheeks as Strohl finally speaks once more, the hand partially obscuring the other's face finally dropping away to offer Will a proper look at the words forming upon Strohl's lips. He does not ask whether he is permitted to hold Will dear to him, nor does he merely speak his affections into existence. The careful construction of that question must be intentional, a declaration that Strohl has cherished him for awhile. ]
Of course.
[ Will squeezes Strohl's hand, a soft smile spreading upon his face. ]
Of course you can.
[ And before Strohl has the opportunity to wonder just how much longer he should continue courting him, and before his mind becomes crowded with unnecessary thoughts, Will tugs him forward by the hand. His other hand latches onto the lapel of Strohl's coat, pulling his companion downwards to his height. He surges forward, crystalline eyes shut as he presses his lips against Strohl's. There's a hunger and an ardor in how firmly he grasps onto Strohl, unabashed in his fervor now that he's been granted permission.
This is his. The staccato pulse and heady rush surging through his veins upon finally being granted the freedom to embrace the one who'd been at his side from what was practically the start -- this is him. These thoughts, these feelings of longing finally fulfilled: they are his, and his alone.
Against Strohl's lips, he whispers something more: ]
Promise me that you'll continue, Strohl; promise me you won't ever stop.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2024-12-18 03:56 am (UTC)It is his heart, the one that stuttered in his chest when Strohl first stepped before him at the recruitment center in his defense, the one that swelled as his companion bent his knee to lift the Euchronian crown into his hands.
But in truth, Will holds every word that ever leaves Strohl's lips close to his heart, including his companion's confessed appreciation for his free-spiritedness. It's a good thing then, Will thinks, that such a trait seems to come naturally to him, one who'd been born from the prince's desire to someday witness Euchronia's lands and to traverse them with his own two feet. ]
It's okay. You can start now.
[ His hand is warm in Strohl's grasp. Their fingers intertwine as he feels himself secured, a humble ship moored to a dock sturdy enough to weather any storm that might strike the shore. Should he ever lose his way, he need only look towards the light in Strohl's amber eyes, for they cut through the night, guiding his ship home where he will never need to doubt his own identity. This hand in Strohl's grasp -- it is his, and his alone.
Warmth rises in his own cheeks as Strohl finally speaks once more, the hand partially obscuring the other's face finally dropping away to offer Will a proper look at the words forming upon Strohl's lips. He does not ask whether he is permitted to hold Will dear to him, nor does he merely speak his affections into existence. The careful construction of that question must be intentional, a declaration that Strohl has cherished him for awhile. ]
Of course.
[ Will squeezes Strohl's hand, a soft smile spreading upon his face. ]
Of course you can.
[ And before Strohl has the opportunity to wonder just how much longer he should continue courting him, and before his mind becomes crowded with unnecessary thoughts, Will tugs him forward by the hand. His other hand latches onto the lapel of Strohl's coat, pulling his companion downwards to his height. He surges forward, crystalline eyes shut as he presses his lips against Strohl's. There's a hunger and an ardor in how firmly he grasps onto Strohl, unabashed in his fervor now that he's been granted permission.
This is his. The staccato pulse and heady rush surging through his veins upon finally being granted the freedom to embrace the one who'd been at his side from what was practically the start -- this is him. These thoughts, these feelings of longing finally fulfilled: they are his, and his alone.
Against Strohl's lips, he whispers something more: ]
Promise me that you'll continue, Strohl; promise me you won't ever stop.