His quest was over before it even began. Remy was there to hold him and to drain his troubles from him; he would press his fingers against the fissures forming in his beloved and hope that the pressure there would be motor enough for now. It would do until next time, or so he hoped.

The kiss was gentle as was everything now, but not in the handling of Edward. Remy knew it would drive him up the walls to be treated like something fragile when he already was so aware of it himself. That was the last thing he needed. So Remy pressed his lips to Edward's with reverence, like he was the only thing that mattered in that moment. It was simple but sweet and loving for a man who'd made a game out of taunting a young Englishman to bed with him.

It was hard to admit sometimes that he had fallen in love with Edward late into what was already a physical relationship; but he could make it so it did not matter. He could try.

"My dear Edward," he wished that this were a more potent cure for his worries but it would have to do.