Xion was shaking, barely able to hold himself up. His body clung to Darius out of instinct, limp from exhaustion, spent from being forced to the edge again and again.
The Archduke's arm slid beneath him, lifting him out of the water with effortless strength.
Droplets cascaded down their bodies, steam curling around them as Darius carried his ruined healer away.
With his vision swirling, Xion buried his flushed face against the broad chest, too embarrassed and weak to even look. His body still spasmed with aftershocks, his insides still filled and dripping with Darius' release.
"Sweetheart," Darius grinned with pride, "you look wrecked. My perfect little mess."
He carried him through the cave, past the warm glow of torches, until the plush bed came into view.
Setting Xion down gently, Darius leaned over him, brushing damp hair away from his face.
For a fleeting second, his touch was tender, and dare Xion say, even reverent.
