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Still…
It would be nice to hear Sorin say it in that husky deep voice of his. If Ere had his wish, he’d hear those words from Sorin every single day. Many times a day.
But he’d be satisfied with justonceat the moment.
“Where did you get the apples?” his Mate asked instead, blithely changing the subject.
He had a talent for doing that. He always distracted Ere from heavy, potentially fraught topics.
One of these days, Ere would make him engage. Even if it left them both bloody and bruised.
Something was wrong with Sorin, though Ere didn’t know what.
His soul was wounded, Ere felt. Perhaps it took time to heal. After all, they’d been apart tens of thousands of years from when Ere was Rai, and Sorin was Sol. They’d only had a few human years together in this incarnation.
Perhaps time was the only answer.
“It is the middle of winter,” his Mate pointed out.
Ere took another big bite of his apple and chewed noisily, smacking his lips.
“Actually, it’s not,” he said with one cheek full.
“Winter, that is. Despite the boot-deep blanket of snow on the ground, it’s supposedly late summer or early autumn here. The reason it’s so cold is because of the Frost Giant in his ice mountain. The skald says that when he snores in sleep high up on the mountain in his cave, he exhales icy gusts from his mouth. Which brews into those ominous dark clouds that enfolded us on our way here.”
“His breath creates the blizzards?” Sorin asked.
Ere nodded.
“If not for his presence, this place would be idyllic in all its seasons. There used to be entire orchards of apple trees, the village elder told me. The land was fertile, and the lakes and rivers were full of fish. It’s why people always settle here, despite the hardship of moving every ten years. And the apple trees have adapted to their environment, reaching roots deep down into the earth where it’s rich and warm, despite the frozen top layer.”
Ere took his last bite, eating the apple down to its core.
Sorin polished off his as well, saving the seeds.
Ere took them and combined them with his own, holding the seeds in his palm.
“The skald also weaves the tale that these apples are enchanted,” he shared.
“That’s why they can grow in even the harshest climes. He says that they belong to the goddess Iðunn, who provides the Æsir with immortality through the consumption of the fruit. Here, the apples hold within them the seeds of hope. Hope and belief in the Æsir. So much so that they refuse to worship the jötunn.”
“It was sweet and filling,” Sorin said. “But I do not feel different having eaten it.”
Ere smiled mischievously and straddled his thighs, wrapping his arms around Sorin’s neck.
“Let me have a taste and see.”
He licked across Sorin’s top and bottom lips, then delved between the seam, flicking his tongue inside for a brief, stealthy kiss.
“You ate your own apple,” Sorin murmured against his mouth, but made no move to pull away.
“You do not need to taste me to learn its effects.”
“Mmm,” Ere hummed, leaning close to taste him again.
Another sweep of his lips. Another thrust of his tongue, licking inside Sorin’s delicious mouth, savoring his unique, addictive flavor.
“But I can’t resist tasting you,” he told his Mate.
