Lost Creek Hollow the milk is drying up

grief too ranged sulklike 'round the lingering veil of the bliss still left in lasher's veins, but he would not let it win. he drew luke closer, leaning into his touches and letting his eyelids fall to half-mast as he pressed his mouth to the bulb of one ear, his lover's pale throat, his shoulder, his cheek. he brought the taste of his lover into himself, to be held there that he might recall this euphoria again, if only in memory, to accompany him through the long nights of cold snow. 

yes -- he would not allow this image escape into the halls of oblivion: luke's features heavy and satiated with the crux of their union, his eyes holding still the glow of that little death shared between them, fur mussed most becomingly, his body pressed against that of the druid, their limbs entwined warmly. "i love you," lasher spoke at length, and fell silent.