[ it should be strange, the ease with which his focus shifts from the bridge to octavian himself, the way the construction and the mechanism and all that is secondary to the way octavian draws his eye, the way he looks, hair red-tinged in the dusk-light, pale and handsome and beautiful, like he's stepped out from a perfect painting.
and he is smiling, too, more than he has had cause to in years; and more than that, there is a warm glow in his amber eyes as he looks at octavian like he's something incredible.
to the part about the counterweight mechanism, ] Well, of course. They would have been idiots not to.
[ when octavian's design is clearly superior to the common one... anyway. his hand still lingers near octavian's cheek, he hasn't moved it away since brushing the strands of hair behind his ear, and perhaps someone else would describe the kiss that follows a natural course of action, a gravitational pull — but they both know better. it is yet another choice, first from octavian to lean in, then from viktor to tilt his head slightly to kiss him back, just as soft and light, a press of lips more than anything else, but enough — more than enough.
when they part, viktor smooths his fingers over octavian's cheek in a mirror to earlier, in the house, before he lets his hand drop and reaches back for his cane.
and he says, contemplative and yet tender, ] I don't believe I've ever had anyone make me as happy as you do.
[ and perhaps someone else might wonder about this, the way his happiness is so quiet a thing, a gentle glow in the way he looks at octavian and nothing more... but it is there, and it is real. their surroundings may not be, but this — this, them, it is real. ]
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and he is smiling, too, more than he has had cause to in years; and more than that, there is a warm glow in his amber eyes as he looks at octavian like he's something incredible.
to the part about the counterweight mechanism, ] Well, of course. They would have been idiots not to.
[ when octavian's design is clearly superior to the common one... anyway. his hand still lingers near octavian's cheek, he hasn't moved it away since brushing the strands of hair behind his ear, and perhaps someone else would describe the kiss that follows a natural course of action, a gravitational pull — but they both know better. it is yet another choice, first from octavian to lean in, then from viktor to tilt his head slightly to kiss him back, just as soft and light, a press of lips more than anything else, but enough — more than enough.
when they part, viktor smooths his fingers over octavian's cheek in a mirror to earlier, in the house, before he lets his hand drop and reaches back for his cane.
and he says, contemplative and yet tender, ] I don't believe I've ever had anyone make me as happy as you do.
[ and perhaps someone else might wonder about this, the way his happiness is so quiet a thing, a gentle glow in the way he looks at octavian and nothing more... but it is there, and it is real. their surroundings may not be, but this — this, them, it is real. ]