Splayed back across the sofa with König lying in your lap was how you’d both spend most evenings when he was spending the night. A familiar comfort, the thrum of the surround sound system providing all the atmosphere for the intense thriller König had picked – it was his turn and yet he wasn’t even paying attention to the screen. Not for a single second.

His face had turned slightly as your fingers ran through his long hair, crooked nose pressing into your inner thigh, a small kiss lingering at the spot he knew would elicit a slight shudder.

One hand remained tight around your leg, palm flat against the outside while his fingertips worked beneath the edge of your shorts, grasping and squeezing at the plump curve of your ass. Hot air fanned across sensitive skin as he exhaled, watching the effect of the cold absence of his breath and the graze of his teeth had.

A muffled groan left his lips as you tugged sharply on his hair, attempting to redirect his attention back to the movie. But that little tease had ignited an inextinguishable need and König couldn’t stop himself from turning his face completely towards you and twisting between your legs, gliding his nose up against your sensitivity through the thin layers of material, pressing a hungry kiss to your warmth as you squirmed.

“K-König, stop. You’re missing the good bits.” But your weak protests were met with a throaty chuckle, half lidded green eyes lifting as he pulled back, tongue running along his bottom lip. Already salivating at the anticipation.

“I’d disagree, Prinzessin.” A gleam of pearly white teeth accompanied the low murmur, other large hand joining the first to lazily pull at your shorts, watching the colour blossoming in your cheeks instead of the slow progress of the material slipping down.

“Come, sit on my face, ja?” The purr was demanding – almost near insistent, taking the stillness of your limbs as an invitation to keep removing the clothes, staring up at you with like a man about to devour his very last meal. Starved.