Molding himself to David's sleeping form, he allowed a hand to glide along the aforementioned man's firm, sculpted body; slowly, tenderly, so as not to disturb him. Eager digits traveled aimlessly, tracing and memorizing every hard line and muscular curve. David stirred momentarily, but did not wake. His chest rose and fell, the rhythmic breathing escaping parted lips and relaxing the older man who cradled him, eyes heavy and drooping. Right before drifting off, he took David's hand into his own, lacing their fingers together, thumb caressing the cold metal of the band that wrapped itself around David's flesh. A smile pulled at his features as he leaned in, burying his face into the younger man's neck, placing light, fluttering kisses over the skin there. Lips lingered at the base, taking in, inhaling, that subtle, musky scent that he knew all too well; that familiar, calming essence. "With this ring," he whispered, fingering the white gold again, "I make you mine. To have, to hold, to love. Will you marry me?"
A slight rustle of blankets and a sliver of warmth went through him; David's fingers were now clasping his. And when he spoke, his voice was thick with sleep, but he could hear him clear as day: "Yes."