He doesn't smile back. But the unguarded look from before comes over him, a thankfulness for Ed's quiet understanding. And as Ed's body slots into his he feels himself give in, softening into Ed's chest, his living warmth, like he's coming home after a long, tiring journey. Ed is home - and it hurts a strange sort of hurt because he's happy, he realizes, even as he can feel his eyes burning. He's finally happy.
He closes them and settles, flinching faintly at the gentleness of Ed's kiss, at the way his lips edge close to where he had been shot. There isn't much to show for it now, a pinkish-white blotch of a scar so small and inconspicuous for a wound that had nearly taken his life. But the memories tied to it are forever, the good with the bad. A reminder, always, of the strange twist of fate that had brought them together.
"Thank you," Oswald says past the thickness in his throat, tasting salt on his lips. He dries his eyes on his wrist before moving to clasp one of Ed's hands tightly. And as he presses it closer to him, he puts away the thought of Ed having touched and held someone else before him, refusing to let the past take away from their moment, their time. Sniffing, he thinks to bring the hand to his lips and press kisses to every one of Ed's knuckles, then the hollow of his wrist, letting his affection speak for him.
Edward closed his eyes as he let Oswald move his hand, holding still for him as he kissed it. It was all about the simple gestures here and he could appreciate that, a shiver running down his spine even so. He was breathing against Oswald's neck and even though the thought was tempting, he didn't move his free hand to touch him anymore than the gentle brushing against his stomach that he inevitably ended up doing with every breath Oswald took. He had noticed enough about how Oswald tensed up to have decided that he didn't want to touch him in any way Oswald didn't initiate, at least not for now. Not tonight.
"We could sleep like this." It doesn't seem like a bad idea.
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He closes them and settles, flinching faintly at the gentleness of Ed's kiss, at the way his lips edge close to where he had been shot. There isn't much to show for it now, a pinkish-white blotch of a scar so small and inconspicuous for a wound that had nearly taken his life. But the memories tied to it are forever, the good with the bad. A reminder, always, of the strange twist of fate that had brought them together.
"Thank you," Oswald says past the thickness in his throat, tasting salt on his lips. He dries his eyes on his wrist before moving to clasp one of Ed's hands tightly. And as he presses it closer to him, he puts away the thought of Ed having touched and held someone else before him, refusing to let the past take away from their moment, their time. Sniffing, he thinks to bring the hand to his lips and press kisses to every one of Ed's knuckles, then the hollow of his wrist, letting his affection speak for him.
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"We could sleep like this." It doesn't seem like a bad idea.