1295, Scotland
-
Écosse has always hoarded his words as closely as his coins before, doling them out with a miser's hand.
"I will fight for you."
And until now, until this very moment, France had thought his blood ran just as cool and slow as his speech.
"I will take every blow for you if I have to."
There is a storm in Écosse's eyes and fire in his voice, both crackling and blazing with raw power.
"I will die for you."
France shivers. His own body feels frozen; his stomach leaden and his lungs filled with ice.
He can barely find enough breath to say, "But you cannot die, Écosse."
"I would, though," Écosse insists. "If you needed that of me, I would."
There is so much heat in him that France instinctively draws closer, in the hopes it might help him to thaw.
Écosse flinches when France takes hold of his shoulders, but he does not pull away. His gaze is forthright, almost challenging, and then his lips part in an invitation France thinks it would be foolish to refuse.
His mouth is just as scalding as his words had promised, and his kiss sears France down to his core.