Vladimir arches his back. Long, blonde hair slides down his shoulders like a velvet curtain. Beliath smiles as a predator cornering its prey would and drags his tongue along the fair neck. A tremor runs through Vladimir’s body, impossible to be hidden when they’re pressed so close.

“You’re delightful,” murmurs Beliath.

He adores Vladimir in this most bare form, when everything that’s meant to cover had been undone, and all that is left is sheer beauty, shivering in his hands.