One thing that always made Ritsuka nervous was the raw power of Soubi's hands.
He could feel them now, lightly ghosting over his pointed black ears, his neck, his shoulders. He gasped lightly, feeling light headed as Soubi's lips brushed feather-light kisses across his eyes, ears, cheeks, before moving on to drag his teeth, only a gentle brush really, over the pulse points on his wrists and throat.
Ritsuka curled his tail around Soubi's wrist, pushing himself forward until he was firmly settled onto Soubi's lap; he spread his knees and embraced Soubi's hips, throwing his arms around the neck that read Beloved in jagged, angry words.
In that moment, they were not thirteen and twenty/. They were not /Beloved or Loveless/. They were not /wrong or mismatched or /unthinkable/.
In that moment, they were simply /them/.
A/N: I've got nothing.