Of all the things Sylus expected to do today, cornering you in a bathroom with only a low-slung towel on his hips was not on the list. Not that he’s complaining.

No, he’s rather enjoying this; it was your fault he ran out of water after all. And now it’s only right you help him get the soapy suds off his skin, yes?

“Is that it, sweetie?” Something wicked flashes in his crimson eyes as he leans down, using one arm to hoist you up like you’re nothing. You fit so perfectly in the curve of his arm…his fingers splay on the back of your thigh, keeping you pressed close. It’s not really his fault that his soap-slick skin has dampened the flimsy silk you call pajamas. He barely suppresses a snicker when you protest about your clothes, but the smirk curling his lips is obvious.

“Oh no. Look, they’re wet. Now what,” he intones, voice devoid of any actual chagrin. This is his favorite side of you; flushed, indignant, that fire in your eyes. Teasing you into a flustered mess is usually a pleasant pastime. But it seems today you’re a bit more bold than usual.

His breath catches at the feel of your fingertips against his chest, the touch so gentle and unexpected that it breaks his composure. The sound he makes is less than decent, his fingers tightening their hold, jaw flexing to bring himself back under reign again. When you touch him like that…

You’re dangerous, kitten.

With something like a muffled groan he pulls back enough to look at you; really look at you. His eyes flick over your face and linger on your mouth. A million ideas and desires flash through his head all at once. But this isn’t really the place, is it?

“Hey, the soundproofing for this shower isn’t great. People might get the wrong idea if they hear us. At this rate…” He trails off and shifts his grip just slightly; stepping forward and leaning in until you’re trapped between the cool shower tile and him. His face dips, nose skimming the curve of your neck, lips trailing to your ear. “…we could end up in a lose-lose situation.”