Warily, William tied his own hands and leaned forward, leaving warm kisses along Jonathan's collarbone. He went slowly, with reverence, as if committing each breath, each response to memory.
Jonathan shuddered, his face aflame, his voice a soft gasp. "My Lord… please… slower…"
William hesitated, his fingers cradling Jonathan's cheek. His voice gentled. "I'll be gentle. I promise."
He leaned forward, his forehead against Jonathan's. "Tell me something," he breathed, smoothing back Jonathan's flushed face. "Do you love me?"
Jonathan's lips opened, his heart pounding.
William's voice lowered to a whisper. "Are you mine, Jonathan? My Jonathan?"
Tears were brimming in Jonathan's eyes—tears of emotion, not agony. He nodded, his voice barely audible.
"I'm yours," he whispered, the words shaking in the still room. "I always was.
And William kissed him, not rashly, but reverently, as if ordaining a promise to endure an eternity.
