[ Sylvain’s gaze brightens at the sound of that laughter. It looks good on him, he thinks, and it has his own expression softening with warmth as he winds his arms around the man’s waist, drawing him in close.

He leans in to meet him for that kiss, still smiling as he slides a hand gently down Basch’s spine. He lingers there, drawing it out, warm and teasing. It’s quieter, not holding the frenzy and impatience of earlier, but just as good, just as enjoyable. Maybe even more so.

But after a long moment, he pulls back, although he steals one more kiss before doing so, as if reluctant to stop. He does tug on the man’s hand again with a fond smile. ]

Come on. I think I see a rope bridge up there. Shall we see where it leads? It seems an odd choice, for the type of garden we walked into.