Lucanis's hands ran along Davrin's skin as he pushed the fabric off the other man, feeling all that hard muscle that was affecting Lucanis more than he'd want to normally admit. And as far as Crows were concerned, his fashion WAS desperately simple and barely deserved to be called fashion at all.

There were all kinds of things he was told as he was raised. A Dellamorte does not kneel. A Dellamorte does not beg. He wanted to do both for Davrin.

"I want to feel your hands on my skin again," Lucanis murmured into Davrin's ear as his own hands grasped as Davrin's back. "Please."