[Eyes fall to that long, pale throat like a snap of teeth, admiring tracks of honey-colored liquid, gleaming pulsepoint beneath the knot of cartilage and freckled skin made slick on its way down. The open parting of Guanshan’s lips briefly reveal that dark interior behind teeth, wet and red as lips latch onto the bottle’s rim with benign obedience—and every thirsty swallow a jump of elastic in that working throat. Cain wants to put his hand around it. He barely suppresses the urge, muscles tightly corded by impatience, focus of a dark gaze dropping to the pretty green blink of that embedded gem.

Lucky for him, he thinks. Some divination of fate has placed this gift directly into his greedy palms. Cain takes the bottle back, savoring the brush of contact at his elbow before he reaches around and plants the mead over the tub’s rim, onto slats of wood. He does this while bringing himself into closer proximity, water lapping at sides, almost grazing contact.]

Guess we’re already breaking rules. [The small offer of drink is the gateway drug before he asks for a little more, and a little more.] What’s another? Your secret’s mine, promise.

[Unbarred now, no hesitation prevents one strong, knuckled-scarred hand from coming up to cradle that sharp and angular jaw. He uses the hold to turn Guanshan’s head toward him, eyes aligned, mouths millimeters apart to share breath in the almost-kiss. The other hand sinks south to caress his flank, thumb purposefully rubbing across that sharp little gem like he’s fingering a bruise, or some more intimate spot. Synchrony doesn’t even occur to him in the moment.]

Fuck, you’re too pretty for some asshole to get you all to themselves.