hugs and kisses

Minoth couldn't say that he had a very extensive portfolio of experiences in the realm of being kissed. He also couldn't say, for instance, that the term "feather-light" was actually supposed to describe the warm feeling of your peach fuzz after someone had embraced you, nor that he'd ever properly described a passionate kiss on the lips - particularly that from a noble, admirable man whose sublime electric handsomeness you found yourself very comfortable in missing, while your gaze was obscured by his.

Everything was new, now.

Everything was wonderful.

It was all very easy and natural, until one actually stopped to consider - and Minoth was very, very good at stopping to consider.

"Flora," he began, and her adoring interlaced grip about the crook of his elbow tightened minutely in acknowledgement and inquisition, "we're really doing this, aren't we?"

He couldn't help it; there was laughter and wonderment in his voice. The situation was unfathomably ridiculous, after all: Addam, married, and Flora, also married by reciprocal definition, seemed to want nothing more than to complicate their lives by drawing one cat-gruff abandoned Blade into the very centre, in such a way that he couldn't, and found that he didn't want to, ignore their earnest, intent affections.

He knew them. They knew him.

They called this the most mortifying of ideals.

Minoth hugged Flora closer to him, and she went readily as she pondered the proper answer to his question.

"I suppose you mean the fact that we're all here in this together?"

"I don't know about together," Minoth mused. "It seems more like Addam's tossed us into a cuddle together and is waiting, smug as a Brog, to see what happens. Is this entertaining for you, Addam?"

"Yes," the prince admitted. "It's all of the reward and none of the effort."

"And if I said 'get off your ass and get over here, Prince,' your response would be what?"

The adjacent couch cushion sunk obediently. "To quote my favorite Flesh Eater, 'whatever you say!'"