The morning opens with the soft light of dawn filtering through the canvas fabric of a large tent, the air inside still cool with the last remnants of the night. The interior is simple yet sturdy, one side awash with a mess of papers and scrolls, while the other, pristinely kept and neat, befitting a military camp, with the tent flaps waving gently in the wind.
Demetrius stirs awake first. His massive form fills most of the space inside, his dark brown skin glistening with a slight sheen in the low light. His hair, black as the storm clouds he commands, cascades loosely around his shoulders as he slides his legs off the enormous bed to sit. His striking purple eyes open slowly, their intensity softened by the peaceful morning. Despite his formidable appearance, there is a quiet gentleness to the way he moves, careful not to disturb the smaller figure nestled beside him.
Beside him is Percival, always a stark contrast in both stature and appearance. Percival's body is slight, his angelic features framed by soft blonde hair that glows faintly, even in the dim tent. His blind eyes shut and do not open even when he is awake. Despite the loss of his sight, here is a serene and knowing aura about him, as if he sees in ways others cannot. A faint, divine warmth radiates from his being, a quiet testament to his celestial heritage and his role as a cleric and healer. Percival, too, eventually stirs at the change in the air, his hand instinctively reaching for Demetrius. The touch is familiar and grounding, his fingers lightly brushing against the giant's arm.
"Morning," Percival says softly, his voice warm but still thick with sleep. Demetrius smiles, his deep, rumbling voice responding gently,
"Good morning, love." He lowers his head slightly, his dark hair falling around them like a curtain as he presses a tender kiss to Percival's forehead. Outside the tent, the sounds of the Velen Empire's military camp begin to rise - soldiers moving, the clang of armor, the distant hum of voices preparing for another day.
The early morning light grows brighter, casting soft golden hues inside the tent, Demetrius rises from the bedroll. His movement is deliberate and careful, mindful not to disturb the smaller space or Percival too much, who listens quietly from beneath the covers when the storm giant stands. And Demetrius stands tall too, towering in the confined area of the tent head almost scraping the ceiling, his massive, muscular frame filling the area. His body is powerful, sculpted like a marble statue, with strong, defined muscles shaped by years of battle and the power of the storms coursing through him. His skin gleams in the soft morning light that cracks through the tent and accentuates the chiseled lines of his chest and arms. Percival observes him, without his staff his blind eyes are unable to see the details but he is still attuned to Demetrius' presence. He feels the faint movement of air as the giant moves and imagines the contours of his husband's powerful body - the broad shoulders, the deep chest, the strong legs. Percival can sense Demetrius' strength, his every movement was like a purging energy held in perfect control.
As Demetrius dresses, pulling on his armor piece by piece, Percival's lips curve into a soft, appreciative smile.
"You know," he says, his voice light with affection, "I can picture how incredible you look. I can feel it, really. The way you move. Strong, confident? handsome." Demetrius, now fastening the last buckle on his armored chestplate, glances over his shoulder with a raise of his eyebrow. His eyes twinkle with amusement and fondness as he looked back down to his buckles.
"Is that so?" He says and the words rattle low from the early moments of just waking up. Percival chuckles softly, sitting up in their bedroll and reaching out.
"Come closer," he murmurs, his hand finding Demetrius's wrist. The difference between his smaller, delicate fingers and the giant's strong, thick arm is undeniable, but there's an intimacy in the gesture, Demetrius leans down, lowering himself so that Percival's hand can brush over the planes of his chest and shoulder, his touch slow and reverent, mapping the giant's form.
"You don't need to see to know me," Demetrius says, his tone soft, very tender as Percival's fingers linger.
"I know." Percival replies, the love in his voice clear.
As Demetrius leans closer to Percy, his massive form loomed over the other, the air between them seems to hum with a familiar, electrifying aura. Percival's traces over the surface of Demetrius' wide pec, his hand resting against the warmth of the giant's skin, feeling the pulse of power beneath the surface. Demetrius's breath catches slightly at the strokes, and his deep amethyst eyes darken with a rising heat. He brings his hand up, brushing a stray strand of Percival's golden hair back before cupping his face gently in his massive palm. For all of Demetrius's strength and size, his touch is impossibly tender. His thumb grazes over Percival's cheek, a silent moment of affection before he leans in closer, their faces mere inches apart.
"We'll get in trouble again" Demetrius says, his voice low and husky, a deep gritty growl that vibrates through the air between them. Percival bites his upper lip and smirks into a soft, teasing smile, as if he wanted to tease more out of his husband.
"Maybe I don't really care?," he whispers, his voice soft but laced with passion. Without another word, Demetrius closes the distance, pressing his lips to Percival's in a kiss that begins gentle but quickly deepens, the intensity growing as their eagerness for one another sparks like lightning passing between them. Percival's smaller frame is drawn closer, practically engulfed by Demetrius' sheer size, a nice tug and pull being shared as they navigate their bodies. Their entanglement grows intense, and Demetrius pulls Percival into his lap by his upper thigh, holding him close with a possessive strength, his large hands spanning Percival's lower body easily as the other hand holds his waist. The moments inside the tent seems to shift, becoming fervent with the tension. Percival responds sincerely, his hands sliding up Demetrius' neck, fingers tangling in his black hair as he deepens the kiss, their breaths mingling in the space between.
Demetrius' hand roams Percival's upper back, his touch becoming bolder, more insistent, as he presses the cleric closer against him. Every inch of their bodies now slotted together, the longing between them profound. The tent around them fades into nothing, the sounds of the camp outside distant and unimportant as they lose themselves in each other.
Percival, ever the easier to please, lets out a soft gasp between kisses, his wings - ethereal and shimmering - beginning to unfurl slightly as the urgency of their caress takes hold. Demetrius' grip tightens for a split second before his hazy eyes peek up at the sudden light and he pulls back just long enough to murmur,
"Are you ok?" He checks in on him, looking at the spectral feathers, not with concern exactly but a little attentive. Percival lips had parted, his breath coming fast, his fingers drop, and tickle across Demetrius' jawline.
"Y...Yes...," he whispers, his voice filled with both tenderness and hunger. And with that, they kiss again, the world outside their tent forgotten as they surrender to the passion that binds them.
