*he swallows hard, and can only just keep himself from devouring Martin whole with the way he’s looking at Quen. He only lets out a breathless laugh, and takes Marty’s hand in his own*
Well …it’ll keep me from fallin’ on my arse in a swoon like some tart in a bodice-ripper. *he laces their fingers together, because he may not get to do so again, and leads the way to the couch: neutral space*
C’mere…*Quen guides Martin to the spot beside him, resisting the urge to set him in Quen’s lap, and leans over to kiss along his jaw* Better?
Martin laughs a little breathlessly at the joke, shaking his head, and then he’s sitting. And Quen’s pressing kisses along sensitive skin… and Martin’s eyes fall closed, lips parting just a little as a wave of heat rushes over him. That— that’s—