Moonlight draped across the bed like silk—soft, silver, sacred.
Lucien lay beneath him, trembling, flushed, utterly exposed. Every inch of him shimmered in the dim light, a portrait of aching need and fragile beauty.
"Hah—ahh... nngh—"
Lucien's breath hitched, his head falling back as Silas pressed a single finger inside him, slow and deliberate. His other hand gripped Lucien's waist, anchoring him, while his thumb brushed teasingly over his pink nipple—drawing a soft, startled moan from Lucien's lips.
Fingers tangled in Silas's hair, desperate and clinging, as if Lucien needed something—anything—to hold onto.
"S-Silas... I—nghh—can't…"
"Yes, you can," Silas murmured, his voice low, rough with restraint. "You're doing so well, love."
Lucien whimpered, his whole body trembling—hips jerking up instinctively, thighs tensing around Silas's sides. The air between them was heavy with heat, with want, with the silent language of two souls lost in each other.
