He listens silently, she's being rash, but it's one of the countless things he loves about her. How she's able to push through his worries in so few words. At the end of the day they would handle it come hell or high water. He's long since resolved himself to make sure she's safe regardless of his own wellbeing. Regardless of how Rocket decided to move, they would not have Stormy, let it be gavin, theo, or even Walsh himself they would not have Stormy Silph. Their duty now was to live as they saw fit, to take care, yes, but still, to live and to love.

She swears herself to him sealing their bond not with blood, but with their bodies nonetheless. Hair falls against his chest, but the sensation goes almost unnoticed in favor of the barrage of other sensations. Lips collide as they'd done so many times before, this clash finds itself deeper than any of the innumerable trenches surrounding Sootopolis, it was her promise and his understanding. She fills all his senses, a slave to their desires. His hand already dark moves not unlike a shadow pushing raven locks behind her ear as tongues brush against each other.

He moves slowly his freehand falls to her side pulling her down like a current while he serves as an undertow fighting against the current of his own creation. That ethereal warmth gifted to her by the gods themselves only serves to enhance what they share. He craves more seeking to secure himself searching for something that he already fully has.

It's calligraphy, each stroke of the brush purposeful moving to create new works on a pure canvas, The brush moves to the corners of the page searching for a point to focus on. Deciphering between sounds echoing across the studio finally a point is determined by the sounds echoing in the studio, only then does the painter truly begin his work.

"You and I against whatever comes."

He pushes further deeper fingers interlock his falling into the grooves between each digit tightly now, a testament to the depths of which he travels. He's more than happy to give her what she craves, in fact, he wants nothing more. The brush continues to paint its piece each movement so deliberate - desperate to create something she'd be happy with, something she couldn't live without just as he can't live without her.

When he speaks they pause for the moment though they remain together. She doesn't dare let him go and vice versa and so they stay intertwined the brush remains on a single point filling in small details never perfectly still as it blots the point it's been paused on.

His senses are assaulted as she follows her own path now, from his cheek to his jaw and ending at his earlobe. Her scent clouds his mind her freshly washed hair still smells of shampoo, her lips almost burn him, that fire she's known for threatens to spill further, blazing into an inferno. The picture nears completion, a work of art made solely for her in this particular moment, it'd be one of many in the days...months....years to come. He rasps as she breaths against his ear. her staggered breath serves as a metronome for his art timing each new line with her breathing. He can barely think now any idea of a backdrop fades in the minutes following, all save for her and the moonlight peeking against her form illuminating portions of her at a time.

Clouds shift and finally, she's seen in her true form, her radiance is too much to take. Pale skin under the moon's opaque light; she glistens with sweat, Stormy shines further. - She's never been so beautiful, but she's always been this beautiful. She trembles now and He grabs her wrists pulling her entire body against him, he can feel her spasm but he's become a vice, uncontrollable in these remaining seconds. Just as he's been painting she too was piecing together her own work of art against him. even as she reveals her work he doesn't stop pushing through the various waves that wash over them both Until he reaches that final line - With this addition, these works would combine creating a true masterpiece, their masterpiece. The brush blots this final point as fiercely as it can hoping to pull more out of her in this final swipe. All remaining ink rushes from the brush and into her a signature notating the work. - the painting is complete. All ink has spilled for the moment.

Even now he doesn't let go relishing her. His grip is lighter, but he doesn't move, more than content to stay like this regardless of any consequences that came. He looks into her eyes knowingly, why? Because anything that came from this moment would be a joy. Another of the already infinite reasons he had to spend his life with her. And so his refusal to leave serves as a seal and a promise just as literally as it did metaphorically.

A promise that He'd challenge this future and any other with her. Where there was once apprehension, now there is resolve. Her rashness has rubbed off on him. fingers pervade sliding into hers, where they belonged.

"Forever."