Dax reached the foot of the bed and stopped, water still glinting across his skin where the towel hadn't quite done its job. The sunlight that cut through the open terrace doors seemed to bend around him, tracing every impossible line of strength and control in quiet reverence.
Chris swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, which made no sense, because the air in the room was already humid from the shower.
The towel on his shoulders was doing exactly nothing to help the situation.
It wasn't even covering him. Just there, draped, decorative, and totally useless. His skin still damp, golden in the morning light, a single drop of water sliding down from his collarbone all the way to where… 'nope,' Chris's brain cut out before it could finish that line of observation.
For a good ten seconds, nothing happened.
