[ midnight tilts his chin up for another kiss. kaveh meets him halfway, petulant and displeased and just mollified enough for the soft movement of his lips, the low and warm swipe of tongue.

midnight is warm today. not quite the burning fever of a candle lit at both ends, not quite the last vestiges of coal banked in ash - midnight today is merely midnight. ]

Ah. How fickle your sweet promises are. [ finally, kaveh smiles. he brushes back midnight's hair with a finger, and then, because he is kaveh, reaches for the comb he keeps in his pocket. ] But since it's Netzach asking, I'd have been far more cross with you not setting something aflame. What good would your hands be otherwise? Now, lower your head. Let me finish with the tangle of your hair. You can't possibly go dancing looking the way you do, but at least you'd make whoever you'd be dancing with look beautiful in comparison. The way a poor painting elevates the beauty of the painting next to it.