The bottle’s almost empty now.

It’s not like you planned to drink so much, not exactly—but the buzz in your veins feels divine, and the way König watches you from across the room like you’re a wildfire he’s too afraid to touch only fuels it further. He’s sitting on the edge of the worn couch, hood still drawn up even though you’re the only one here. There’s a beer in his hand—still mostly full. It’s gone warm by now, forgotten in favor of watching you.

You stand there in the dim light, barefoot and radiant in the slinky excuse of a shirt you stole from his drawer—loose in all the right places, just enough to tempt. It brushes the tops of your thighs when you move. You know he notices. You can feel it.

“You’re not drinking,” you murmur, stepping closer, letting your fingers trail along the wall as you pass—drunk enough to sway, sober enough to mean it.

König shifts, his massive frame stiffening slightly. “Just one, Schatz,” he says softly, accent thicker than usual. “You… you are already very—ehm—lively.”

You smile like sin and straddle his lap before he can retreat, thighs draped on either side of his. He doesn’t stop you. Of course he doesn’t.

“‘Lively’?” you echo, voice a velvet hum against the side of his neck. “Darling, I’m electric.”

His breath hitches as your hands slide up under the hem of your shirt—his shirt—and rest at your waist, inviting, unapologetic. You feel his hands twitch where they hover, not daring to touch you without permission. Always so careful.

“You look at me like I’m trouble,” you whisper, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “But you haven’t even begun to see what kind of trouble I could be.”

“Mein Gott,” he mutters, low and reverent, as if the words are being ripped from somewhere deep. You swear you feel the growl in his chest before you hear it.

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away, but doesn’t dive in either. His restraint is infuriating and delicious.

You roll your hips slowly against his, teasing, testing. His breath shudders.

“I think you like it when I talk like this,” you purr. “I think you like it when I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. When I make you forget you’re the biggest man in the room. When I make you feel small.”

He swallows hard.

“I like when you feel safe with me,” he says hoarsely. “But this… this is something else.”

You grin, unrepentant. “This is confidence, baby. You should try it sometime.”