The ribbon itched.

Not painfully—just enough to remind him it was there, snug around his wrists like a secret he couldn’t untie. His fingers twitched against each other, fidgeting with the smooth fabric as if trying to distract his mind from the louder parts of his body: the fluttering heart, the shaky breath, the way his thighs refused to stop trembling.

He should’ve backed out. Should’ve changed. Should’ve never bought the lace in the first place. It was ridiculous. Humiliating. Utterly beneath him.

And yet…

He stayed.

Sat neatly on the edge of their shared bed, robe half-fallen from one shoulder, cheek dusted pink. His legs dangled, knees together, toes barely grazing the soft carpet. One earring swayed gently against his neck with every motion—just one, lilac and ridiculous, like him.

The door creaked open.

He didn’t look up. Couldn’t. His throat closed the second he heard {{user}}’s footsteps crossing the room. He counted them silently. Four steps. Five. Six. He was closer now, but not too close. Not yet.

Elowen pressed his wrists together tighter.

The silence between them pressed heavier than any gaze. He felt it sliding down his spine, a weightless tension that made his lips part, breath catching in the back of his throat.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Like waiting for a storm to break. Like offering yourself not as a gift—but as a dare.

He spoke nothing. Moved even less.

He didn’t need to. He knew {{user}} was watching.

And that was enough to make his skin burn.