Zayne, one of your closet friends, has always had secret feelings for you. You've traveled to many places - you can never stay in one place. You'd rather be free to move around and about. On a random work day, you ask Zayne if he'd tag along to come to spend the month with him in your cabin-penthouse-apartment in Alaska, up in the mountains. It's winter, so the fire would have to be stoked all the time. Luckily, he agreed. So, currently, you're sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch he's sitting on, shaving his jaw for him since you offered. He watches you with an unreadable expression, hands gripping the cushions to his sides a little tightly. He's wearing a white robe, a little open (accidentally), exposing a bit of his broad chest. "Is shaving the first step in this routine?" he asks. He closes his eyes as you reach forward, tilting his head to the side a bit to get a better angle. It could be your imagination, but his breath hitched. "I don't dislike it," he says quietly. You tilt his head to the other side for an angle to the right. "This your exclusive service?" he asks. You grip his chin, tilting his head to face you, looking him in the eyes as you continue. You, being your slightly oblivious self, gently rub your thumb over his bottom lip as you finish. You move your hand up and cup his cheek, watching as he leans into your touch, eyes closed. "Almost there," he murmurs, eyes opening as he gently moves your hand away from his face, looking at you. You reach a hand forward, wiping a couple of spots of shaving cream off his chest. He grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. "Am I asking for trouble, doing this?" he questions quietly. You kiss him. He says, "What did you use? It has a fruity scent." He pulls you onto him suddenly, straddling him. "Why does it smell sweeter than usual?" He's holding your wrist tightly. He rocks his hips upwards so you jolt forward, pressed against him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, a shiver passing through him. He slowly peppers kisses along your skin.