Doves fluttered their wings through Gilmore's stomach at the sight. He'd never admit it, but it had been the object of many nights of transfixed fantasy. Time and distance had done little to dull his body's reaction to it, a feeling for which Gilmore felt, in that moment, acutely ashamed. What cruel trick of fate was this?
When it became clear that Vax'ildan had seen him, and recognized him, Gilmore averted his dark gaze and cast his eyes down to the sand. His arms hung limply at his sides and the man stood unmoving, as if frozen in the grip of some Hold Person enchantment. There was a shudder through his body when Vax's hands pressed against his beard, followed by a sharp inhalation that caused his chest, decorated by dark hair that thinned across the the pectorals to a fine dusting, to swell broadly.
"Vax'ildan." The name hung in the air after the rogue drew him in tightly, their bare torsos pressing together. The Marquesian let out that breath, feeling himself almost relax too easily into Vax's touch. Finally, he continued in his deep, masculine baritone. "You are wet. And naked."
Despite his reservations, Gilmore found himself unable to break their embrace of his volition. Instead, his fingers found their way into that man's beautiful, dark hair. "And what is this? Your hair is as short as Grog's." He managed a chuckle at the hyperbole. "As for me, I don't need to carry around that winter weight to keep warm now that I've exchanged Emon for warmer shores."