Hands tremble minutely by the time they come to rest on his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as if they are ten small anchors to keep their mistress from flying away.

They don't stay there long, proving too restless and obviously blessed with Eirene's own wanderlust, for they ghost across the column of his throat -- heralds for her approaching lips, who brush against the spot where his pulse beats wildly.

Then, between heartbeats, her mouth is nuzzling his.