[ his eyes go wide, a tingling heat whipping through him toe to crown. He’s never used that phrase again, not since Sylvain explained why he had a hard time with it. That it was something given both too freely and without sincerity, wasn’t a thing he wanted to use between them. That had been alright, more than alright, because he had no doubt about what he meant to Sylvain.

He also has no doubt how sincere it is now. And how right the other must feel, for it to slip out.

He laughs, joyous and bright and disbelieving, stepping around and pulling Sylvain’s face into his. There are hungry kisses — many, between them many days and nights — but this is an entirely different kind of demanding. Promising. Thanking. Loving. ]

Perhaps it is time for me to stop worrying how you will receive my gifts. I did not dream someone could be this pleased to be mine.