Faolan felt Lucien's hand on his wrist, felt him grasp so tightly that his arm was shaking. The vibrations traveled all the way up the Irishman's arm and into his chest, where his breath was short and his heart was hammering on and on. He would have pulled away, wrenched his wrist from Lucien's grasp and continued walking...no, running away, into the night. He would find himself a dark, cold place and sleep there until the sun rose and reminded him that he had a life to lead, perpetually and totally alone. That was how it was before he met Lucien, before he had agreed to take the young Frenchman along on his wanderer's life. He could go back there, to the way it was, and no in the world would care.

Except for one.

His body overpowered his thoughts, however irrational they were, and moved on its own. Instead of pulling away, he turned, fast enough to make him dizzy. He locked eyes with Lucien, and all of his reservations and insecurities melted away as he looked into those golden pools. There was comfort there, a comfort that Faolan would not, and could not give up. He stepped forward as Lucien let go of his wrist, and his eyes moved to the Frenchman's open lips. He couldn't hold back now, even if he wanted to.

He reached up and slid his hand over Lucien's shoulder to hook his palm behind his head, swift but not violent, into a kiss. It was the fourth kiss Faolan had ever experienced, but it was the only one that mattered, the only one that would ever matter. He pressed his lips against Lucien's his eyes closed and moved forward as his other arm snaked around Lucien's rib cage to his back. He held him there, and everything felt right for one single, perfect moment. His heart, which had been so darkened with conflict moments before, felt so beautifully full and light. He was the happiest he had ever been, and would ever be, and he never wanted it to stop.