Alba slept sweetly wrapped in Eridanys’ arms among the moss and trees and incoming lapping waves of the tide; where the chill could never find him, even without blankets. Where discomfort was far from him, even without the comforts of a bed. He was warmed by the trailing remains of the man’s hands and mouth and body pressed against him until he was moaning and gasping; comforted into a deep sleep by the mere proximity of him with eyes closed and arms pulled into his body. Safe in Eridanys’ arms. Safe in the arms of his merrow-siren love.
