Fox's Glade the moon cried for my brother

he melts under his brother's rough touch, exposes his neck to the rough preening. he feels hot at the sharply affectionate words. thank you. absynthe murmurs softly feeling too embarrassed by such a compliment to say anything else. purple eyes glance up at the gaunt figure of ronnie with unwavering fondness. lay with me? he asks softly. it is dark and the place seems empty, was here a more appropriate place than earlier? absynthe is dying to soak up his brother's presence and touch.