He drops his words on the floor, then searches for them, his sentence eroding halfway and left quive
He drops his words on the floor, then searches for them, his sentence eroding halfway and left quivering amongst the vines. SkekGra waits for urGoh to finish nosing around his feet and along the shelves and to find what he is looking for, roll it around on his tongue and curve his long neck at him with two hands on knees and two more lifted to spell it out in the air. He doesn’t even have to say it, whatever it was, because skekGra can see it in the downward tilt of his back, and the flecks of silver on his upper lip, and the great gentleness of him there, paused mid-step with greenery crowning him. He knows it as truly as he knows that deep, homely scent of urRu coiling in his nostrils: his eyes will never tire of his shape; his voice, cracking and overused, will never fall short of vows binding them more tightly into each other’s orbit. Right there, in the yawning expanse between thought and speech, he knows his heart can never be too full of him.***Check out Notes from the Song, my collection of drabbles from Discord weekly write-ins! Updates every Sunday, mostly GraGoh romance, naturally https://archiveofourown.org/works/27914092/chapters/68355109 -- source link
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