 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Dafydd laughed, though the sound caught slightly in his throat. Hartley's words, sweet and disarming as always, made something tighten in his chest. It was typical, really. Leave it to Hart to turn a memory into something adorable, to meet his nerves with soft affection instead of suspicion. Dafydd squeezed Hartley's hand gently, anchoring himself in the warmth of his partner's skin.
"You didn't sound foolish at all," he said, smiling fondly, though his voice wavered just enough to betray him. "Though I recall you ogling quite a bit. I'd bet a handful of galleons you were drooling more than the crups were."
The answer to Hartley's question went unanswered. Dafydd hesitated, instead choosing to silently guide them along the path that hugged the water's edge, the swans now gliding closer in slow, graceful arcs.
"Truth be told," he eventually spoke, his fingers twitching slightly against Hartley's, "I've been a little tense all evening." A pause followed. Then a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. "Have been for weeks, waiting for the right moment to..."
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