It was an unexpected delight to hear someone else speaking in Marquesan again. Even in Ank'harel, the common tongue was standard. A few salespeople and traders defaulted to the native language, some bards specialized in ballads attuned to the unique sounds, but hearing Gilmore drop into it was a particular kind of joy. They brushed their fingers softly against Gilmore's cheek again, tracing the line between skin and beard, and brought their other hand up to brush gently through his hair.
"There is nothing to apologize for," they said. "All we have here is time, and you should take as much of it as you need. I will be here, whenever you have worked through your thoughts and are ready to know the more involved extent of our dalliances."
They trailed off, watching Gilmore's hands and his lips and his eyes for a brief moment before rising from the bed. They tapped the kettle to heat it up again and then wandered towards one of the shelves lined in books and scrolls from home. It took a moment, but they finally found what they were looking for in a thick roll of canvas. It was one of the erotic pieces they hadn't hung up on the walls, if only because it was special to them. Private. But if Gilmore didn't remember what had come in the months and years after the fall of the Chroma Conclave, perhaps this would be a titillating hint.
"You sat for me once," they said. "Well, more than once. But this is the piece I kept for myself. You are welcome to take it with you, so long as you promise to sit for me once more while we are here."