>I've been writing a lot of Geralf/Ludevic stuff lately for some reason, I have no idea why.
They’re hiding beneath a bridge, knee-deep in mud, listening to the sound of the cathars’ horses above. It used to be that the cathars would mostly leave you alone as long as you weren’t actively testing an experiment near a populated area, but these days they have become pre-emptive. All that Geralf and Ludevic were trying to do was scavenge a few parts from a nearby graveyard, and now Geralf is seriously concerned they might actually die. Considering neither of their revitalization experiments has yet demonstrated promise, death would be quite the setback.
Their breathing seems too loud in the still, dank air, almost as loud as the horses above them and the low murmur of voices and clank of armor. Geralf doesn’t want to die. The cathars frighten him far more than his own experiments do, far more than the vampires or werewolves or things that go bump in the night. In his mental theater, he can feel the press of cold steel entering his heart, and that combined with the cold night air sends a full-body shiver through him.
Something warm cuts through the chill of the night, and Geralf turns, shocked, to see that Ludevic has taken his hand and is holding it tightly, staring upward at the bridge above them. Fortunately, in the next moment, they hear a shout, and the cathars ride on and away.
Geralf sighs and, before he can help himself, slumps against Ludevic, who turns to him suddenly, and, before Geralf can move or react, pulls him hard against him. Hot lips press insistently onto Geralf’s own, and he can only gasp and shudder against the other man. After a moment, Ludevic pulls back.
“Avacyn help me,” he croaks. “Geralf. I think I–I think I love you, and it terrifies me. I feared for you more than for myself.”
Geralf can’t speak; all he can do is lean forward with a nod and press their lips together once again.
