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Summary
“Sir Varka, if I may ask,”
“Yea- Whoa! Flins?!”
Varka froze solid before he could even finish the first word of his reply, blue eyes wide as an owl with his hands instinctively thrown into air.
Because why was Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, the elegant gentleman of a fae who had always maintained a polite distance, pressing himself flat against Varka’s body with his face nuzzled into the midline of Varka’s chest, all while shamelessly slotting his leg right between the knight’s?
And those eyes, those damn irises bright as stars in the night sky that was Flins’s dark-rimmed eyes and shadow-like hair, were half-lidded and gazing straight into Varka’s very soul.
“Why haven’t you bedded me yet?”
Series
- Part 1 of Mass Retirement
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