[Isaac's touches turn gentler, incongruous with his words. His lips touch fire to the chilled skin of Hector's neck, and he tilts his head to bare more skin to him.]

You're blameless, I'm sure.

[It's a terrible time for this, a terrible place. There are hunters on the mountain, ready to spill their blood. But within the safety of this cave, that danger is removed, remote. Abel keeps watch, and that leaves the two forgemasters free to make poor decisions.

Isaac's words steal the breath from Hector. He too was taught from the cradle that God's wrath would be upon him, the cursed child of the night. For Hector, it was because of the creatures that flocked to him. For Isaac, they must have ascribed a different source of otherness. He aches, recalling the taunts and the beatings he endured, and wondering if it had been the same for his rival.

He shifts in Isaac's arms, turning to face him.]

It doesn't have to be like that. Fire and brimstone, blood and suffering...it's not the first lie the church has told.

[He presses his lips to Isaac's, trying to imbue in his touch the ways this act between men could be tender, loving, if only they'd allow it to be.]