[ Finally, the man in bed with poor Wriothesley leans up onto his elbow. It isn’t a full sit up, which means he’s still pressed against the man, but now there’s an angled jaw and tousled blond hair to go with the body. Sleepy red eyes blink, pronounced with dark bags beneath, and thin lips part with a light breath. Morning light dusts across pale lashes. ]
Oh. [ his voice remains low, tone slightly drawled, ] You’re not Topper.
[ A tempered confirmation. The arm around his waist finally relaxes as Quincy draws it up. Not to remove it completely—a large hand grips lightly over Wriothesley’s chin to tilt his head back, wanting to get a better look at the stranger’s face. His touch is gentle, with long fingers faintly textured with calluses.
Quincy studies the man’s face. How’d this wolf pup get in his bed? ]
no subject
Oh. [ his voice remains low, tone slightly drawled, ] You’re not Topper.
[ A tempered confirmation. The arm around his waist finally relaxes as Quincy draws it up. Not to remove it completely—a large hand grips lightly over Wriothesley’s chin to tilt his head back, wanting to get a better look at the stranger’s face. His touch is gentle, with long fingers faintly textured with calluses.
Quincy studies the man’s face. How’d this wolf pup get in his bed? ]
Who are you?