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Summary
The hand on Theo's chest travels down to his belly. Then slides back up again, deliberately taloned. Theo shudders once and presses back against the dig of the porcelain sink before Liam's single extended claw cuts a straight line from neckline to hem. The open air of the locker room is like a jolt to Theo's bare skin.
"That was my favorite shirt," he complains.
Liam shrugs flippantly. "Then maybe you shouldn't have worn it to sparring. When it's the perfect opportunity for me to destroy what you're wearing…" He leans in, latches onto Theo's neck with his blunt teeth in that way that always has him a writhing mess. "In more ways than one."