As ever, his expression holds love, but there is much below the surface.

The love is not a lie. It is never a lie. It is, at times, the one matter in this world in which I always trust, although at times I have allowed my guilt and fear to overwhelm me, to make me believe that he and his love are safest far from-

No. I will not allow my thoughts too far down that path. What I have seen today, what I have experienced today, has broken that. I will not have it any other way.

He does not lie with his love. He has never lied with his love. But he is thoughtful, underneath, and wistful, and concerned.

He has too many scars, both physical and emotional.

I must repair what I can, and enable him to trust in me again as he may.

He responds to me easily, willingly, as always giving the entirety of himself. I lean on an elbow over him, turning my face a little into his seeking hand without losing contact with his lips.

So soft.

So gentle.

So utterly steel underneath.

His strength is a revelation every time I encounter it.

I begin to caress his naked form under mine. I cup the side of his face, stroke the line of his jaw, and flick a finger against his nipple.