[He takes on the weight of the broadsword in his hand as his face is led to rest in Morgan's touch, meeting Morgan's eyes, hearing the statement of intent, of a dedication that he wasn't expecting... It softens his face with surprise, a parting of his lips that could just barely be missed if they weren't so close together. No words follow, but it doesn't seem to be out of inability this time - not with the way his eyes swim in warmth, in silence, unsure what to say but still letting the smile come regardless, reaching the corners of his eyes, tugging up under Morgan's palms.]
You'll be more delicious every time. I know you will.
[There's lingering heat to the syllables, one he feels radiate down his own body like the smallest electrical shock, holding his eyes in a way that looks almost starving. But it's the sounds of others using equipment in the distance that breaks him of his stance before he can ask what comes over his mind, exhaling as he turns his face into one of Morgan's palms, anchoring it from the other side with his free hand as peppers the tender inside with his lips, slow and careful and explorative of the flesh underneath - just like their first kiss had been.
When his lips draw to a halt, he doesn't look like he wants to stop. But he tilts the abandoned sword in Mithrun's direction, even as he lowers that tender palm from his mouth.]
( Mithrun swallows, Barrett's hungry gaze reflected clear in his own black eye. His hands feel a little warmer against Barrett's skin, his fingers just near enough to the slight part of his lips; close enough to taste, close enough for - something else he doesn't know the shape of, yet, besides the way it leaves that heavy thump in his chest in its wake.
Barrett interrupts it with his lips, in a different way - not unwelcome; his fingers curl in against his cheek, his gaze softening - or, maybe, going a little bit hungrier. )
... All right.
( But he doesn't voice this feeling, yet, because he thinks that it's something adjacent to eating - its neighbor, but not its equal.
He takes up his blade as if nothing were amiss, the sensation of Barrett's lips still hot against his palm, and the tips of his ears, though it's so easy to miss through his hair, just a little bit warmer in shade. )
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You'll be more delicious every time. I know you will.
[There's lingering heat to the syllables, one he feels radiate down his own body like the smallest electrical shock, holding his eyes in a way that looks almost starving. But it's the sounds of others using equipment in the distance that breaks him of his stance before he can ask what comes over his mind, exhaling as he turns his face into one of Morgan's palms, anchoring it from the other side with his free hand as peppers the tender inside with his lips, slow and careful and explorative of the flesh underneath - just like their first kiss had been.
When his lips draw to a halt, he doesn't look like he wants to stop. But he tilts the abandoned sword in Mithrun's direction, even as he lowers that tender palm from his mouth.]
Practice with me for a while.
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Barrett interrupts it with his lips, in a different way - not unwelcome; his fingers curl in against his cheek, his gaze softening - or, maybe, going a little bit hungrier. )
... All right.
( But he doesn't voice this feeling, yet, because he thinks that it's something adjacent to eating - its neighbor, but not its equal.
He takes up his blade as if nothing were amiss, the sensation of Barrett's lips still hot against his palm, and the tips of his ears, though it's so easy to miss through his hair, just a little bit warmer in shade. )