Lucanis' moan at the scraping of Davrin's nails is muffled against the elf's skin.

"Staking your claim? Maybe I should start leaving my shirt so open, too."

He's certain everyone has been caught staring at Davrin's chest at one point or another. The Warden is like something out of a romantic novel where bodices are ripped, if given five minutes and a glass of wine he could probably even come up with a Randy Dowager review of it. He leaned back just enough to admire his work and felt a flush of pleasure all over again to see Davrin on his bed like this. Lucanis had to wonder if Davrin got the same warm possessive flush when Lucanis was on his.

"I adore you."