And there is just-- something-- about familiar fingers traveling familiar paths, that has Puck's breath catching in his throat even as his muscles yield and uncoil under the touch.

They say the fae are slow to change, and this may be a part of why.

Puck tilts his head into the kiss, murmuring or sighing something of little consequence into Havelock's mouth, and wraps his free arm about Havelock's waist the better to pull himself closer, or Havelock closer, or at any rate to bring them closer together.