A soft, lilting laugh left Lighter’s lips. He nuzzled against the other’s cheek, breathing him in. The scent was addicting. He didn’t want to leave it.
“You’re too kind, Cyrus. One day I’ll get out of it. I’ll grow stronger than Marx, make sure he doesn’t hurt me anymore.” He promised, his head and chest fuzzy with a feeling he wasn’t familiar with. Was this excitement? Alcohol?
Warmth? Love? Affection? Offered the voice in his head. Not a chance, you’re too broken for that.
Lighter found his hand gently pushing against Cyrus’s wide chest, his heart aching. “I-Is this really alright?” He asked quietly, gently, lifting sad eyes to a handsome face.