It's beautiful. There's no other word for it. Moonlight in his eyes and playing across his skin, and the sound of him humming down to his bones. The warmth of him splaying under his skin in a warm wave as the tension grows even tighter.

His hands stays there, cradled against the side of his face, fingers teasing the edge of his hair, as York swallows him down again. This is new, this curl of possessiveness that sits heavy but welcome inside. He lets himself move, thrusting up once, twice...

Then that tension breaks, cracks and shatters into a thousand pieces, and it's as though he can feel each one falling, bouncing against the rest before settling to the dirt. It's a ragged breath that escapes him, a low and rough noise like he might lose his breath if he had it.

There.