[He say he understands, but did he really? Not yet, anyway. Not yet has he tasted the bite of death, fallen upon his own lance cursing the world. But he's right in one sense, that they shouldn't dwell on such things, so Gilgamesh gives his reply with a tug forward on Diarmuid's fresh braid and a kiss sealed upon his lips.
It's slow and sultry and stubborn, as to be expected from the King of Heroes. It's desperate and needy and speaks to exactly what he wants—don't leave, don't let go, I don't want to die—and exactly what he doesn't want to reveal. That he was scared, just a little, just enough that he refused to acknowledge it.
It meant acknowledging a sort of madness even he wasn't ready to embrace.]
Okay. [He concedes. How could he ever not with this man?] But I don't feel like moving. Convince me.
[He likes kissing this man too much. It's a habit. Or an addiction.]
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It's slow and sultry and stubborn, as to be expected from the King of Heroes. It's desperate and needy and speaks to exactly what he wants—don't leave, don't let go, I don't want to die—and exactly what he doesn't want to reveal. That he was scared, just a little, just enough that he refused to acknowledge it.
It meant acknowledging a sort of madness even he wasn't ready to embrace.]
Okay. [He concedes. How could he ever not with this man?] But I don't feel like moving. Convince me.
[He likes kissing this man too much. It's a habit. Or an addiction.]