[Maybe it's just the atmosphere making him sentimental but Diarmuid's been more obviously tactile as of late. Whether it's with Waver or Berserker, he's quick to lace fingers together or embrace, to place kisses on hands and cheeks or even just indulge in a light touch across backs and arms. In his second life, Christmas was more something he was aware of thanks to the Grail's influence but Grianstad an Gheimhridh has never lost its personal significance. Rebirth. New beginnings. The start of a thaw. It's no wonder that this solstice holds an even deeper meaning than usual for him.
The longest night of the year draws in with startling speed and, beyond the window of the apartment with its layer of frost, lamplights glow like indistinct, yellow-white halos. Maybe if he were in a different mood, Diarmuid might take the time to sit by and watch the evening pass with something alcoholic, think over the time he's been here and how things have changed. But that's not on the agenda tonight.
Languidly, almost cat-like in his movements, Diarmuid slips onto the couch beside Berserker and drapes an arm around his middle. With the softess of sighs, he presses a kiss to the sensitive skin of his throat, then another to his jaw with the suggestion of one more to follow for his lips- only to stop at the last moment.]
Cú... [Another sigh. Gentle, wistful, barely a breath against his skin.] Help me bid winter farewell.
[It's not often he initiates in such a bold manner- and it still feels a little alien and unrefined- but he can't help it.]
22nd Deceuer
The longest night of the year draws in with startling speed and, beyond the window of the apartment with its layer of frost, lamplights glow like indistinct, yellow-white halos. Maybe if he were in a different mood, Diarmuid might take the time to sit by and watch the evening pass with something alcoholic, think over the time he's been here and how things have changed. But that's not on the agenda tonight.
Languidly, almost cat-like in his movements, Diarmuid slips onto the couch beside Berserker and drapes an arm around his middle. With the softess of sighs, he presses a kiss to the sensitive skin of his throat, then another to his jaw with the suggestion of one more to follow for his lips- only to stop at the last moment.]
Cú... [Another sigh. Gentle, wistful, barely a breath against his skin.] Help me bid winter farewell.
[It's not often he initiates in such a bold manner- and it still feels a little alien and unrefined- but he can't help it.]