The velvet curtains of the bedchamber were drawn tight, sealing out the cool midnight air and trapping the room in a warm, suffocating dimness. The scent of heavy floral perfume mingled with the musk of sweat, a combination that usually grounded Yerel, pinning him to the present.
Right now, it was only making him sick.
Philia's hands were in his hair, his strong fingers tugging gently at the dark strands as he pulled Yerel down for another kiss. Philia's lips were firm, tasting faintly of the rich wine they had shared late into the evening. He was completely tangled in him, his breath hitching in a soft, low gasp against Yerel's mouth as he arched his back, pressing his bare chest flush against Yerel's.
By all accounts, Yerel should have been entirely consumed by him.
But as Yerel leaned over him in the dark, his hands gripping Philia's waist to anchor himself, a sudden, violent jolt ran down his spine.
