Held in such proximity, Cygnus simply lowered his head, chin dipping down so that he could nestle his face in the curve where Gaultier's neck and shoulder met. His own hands, one of which maintained a tight, almost possessive grip on the key, traveled slowly over the flat planes of Gaultier's back until they came to rest over his shoulder-blades, where his fingers curled to grip the fabric of his shirt. "I always assume the worst," was his response, his voice muffled.
There would have been more to his reply, something that touched on his own brand of pessimism, but Cygnus put a stopper to those thoughts with a simple inhalation -- a slow drawing of breath as he pressed his face closer against the taller man's chest, breathing him in, the mingling scents of cleanliness and cologne and a hint of spice familiar to him, yet, even after all of these years, still as overwhelming as they had been from the beginning of their relationship. The melting Gaultier so yearned for had certainly occurred here and now, and Cygnus lingered in his arms before straightening and lifting his head.
"I know." A smile appeared on his lips, and he lightly tapped the key against Gaultier's chest. "Alone, Gaultier? So many possibilities, all the things I want to do to you -- when can we go?"
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