It was a rainy day in London. Thankfully, it meant that you didn’t have to go out and water the garden, and could instead spend some time indoors relaxing.

The fire was already lit, allowing you to just snuggle up under a blanket on the couch.

You sat there, blissfully unaware of the eyes that followed your every movement, until a pair of strong arms suddenly circled your neck.

Brahms nuzzled the face of his porcelain mask into your hair, a low whine emanating from deep within his throat.