 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Dafydd's smile deepened despite himself. There it was. The rambling. The unstoppable, endearing stream of words that seemed to emerge whenever Hartley was particularly flustered, particularly affectionate, or—as was often the case—both at once.
"My fault?" he repeated, lifting a brow with mock innocence. "An impressive accusation, considering you're perfectly capable of talking yourself into circles without any assistance from me."
The teasing lingered in his eyes as he reached up and briefly straightened the lapel of Hartley's jacket, fingers lingering there for a moment. He was, admittedly, rather pleased with the effort his husband had gone to. Though perhaps not nearly as pleased as he was by the fact that Hartley still looked at him as though he were something extraordinary after all this time.
"Merlin, Hart." His gaze followed the indicated direction toward the table, taking in the spread waiting for them. The sight alone was enough to draw another quiet laugh from him. The affection in his voice was impossible to miss. "You weren't joking when you said a feast."
His eyes drifted back to Hartley, the courtyard's afternoon light casting a soft, lambent glow across familiar features. For a moment, Dafydd simply looked at him, allowing himself to appreciate the man standing before him: thoughtful, generous, endlessly earnest.
"You know," he said quietly, stepping closer once more, "I could've happily spent our anniversary sharing chips from a paper wrapper on a park bench with you."
A pause.
"That said..." His gaze flicked back toward the table, amusement returning. "I'm certainly not about to complain about this alternative." He leaned forward just enough to press a brief kiss to Hartley's cheek. "Happy anniversary, love."
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