 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Dafydd let out a soft huff of laughter against Hartley's shoulder as the embrace tightened. For a moment, he didn't move to pull away, content instead to stand there with his arms wrapped around him, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric at Hart's back.
"Careful," he murmured, voice low, threaded with that same quiet amusement, "you'll crush them before I even get the chance to truly appreciate them."
When Hart finally released him, Dafydd took the roses into his hands, gaze dropping to them. He turned the bouquet slightly, noting the careful arrangement, the richness of the petals, the way they caught the light. It and the man who had gone through all this effort made his heart want to deliquesce.
"You do realize," Daf replied, tilting his head just slightly, "that you're setting a precedent I'll be expected to match. And I'm not entirely convinced you understand the danger of that." The corner of his mouth lifted into a playful smirk.
Still holding the roses in one hand, Dafydd stepped forward again, closing the distance between them. His free hand came up, brushing briefly along Hart's sleeve, an affectionate gesture that lingered just a second longer than necessary.
"They're perfect," he added, softer now. "Unfairly so, actually. And you—" his gaze flicked over him "—you're looking quite dashing this evening."
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