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There is no point in sleeping, not when neither dream nor darkness can compare to Asterius’ restful face. It is hard enough to keep his eyes from Asterius’ powerful body while they do battle together; afterwards, with his breath so calm in his chest and his limbs so soft and tired across the grasses, Theseus can scarcely restrain himself. Asterius looks the portrait of a hero, and gods, it sets his heart racing more frantically than even in the midst of combat. He longs to touch his chest and feel the sheer strength of it, to know it as intimately as he knows his own skin.
So he does.
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Bookmarked by Hopeless_Romantic52
02 Jul 2024
