Lucas didn't move.
Not even when Trevor's breath lingered hot against his skin, not when the weight of that last sentence settled between them like something alive. The bond pulsed in his chest like a second heartbeat, calming him.
But before either of them could speak again, a soft, unmistakable knock echoed through the suite's heavy door.
Once. Then twice. Then, after a brief pause, the door creaked open just enough for a familiar voice to slip through, polite and sharp and entirely unimpressed.
"If you're both clothed, I'm entering."
Trevor groaned into Lucas's neck, his voice muffled and full of despair. "Why is he like this?"
"Because one of us has a spine," Windstone replied dryly, stepping into the room with the unhurried precision of a man who had seen far, far worse and had the emotional fortitude to neither flinch nor comment unless absolutely necessary. "And frankly, I've seen you in worse positions."
