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    Summary

    Orpheus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Frederick, please,” he said, leaning in so their faces were almost touching, “I never had to win, really.. You were mine the moment you stepped into this room.”

    With a quick, smooth motion, Orpheus brought the cigarette back to his lips, inhaled deeply, then reached out, his fingers catching Frederick’s chin, tilting it upward slightly. Before Frederick could react, Orpheus closed the remaining distance between them, pressing his lips just inches from Frederick’s, and exhaled a long, deliberate stream of smoke directly into his mouth.

    Frederick’s heart pounded as he inhaled instinctively, the smoke filling him once again, but this time it felt more intimate, more charged. His eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, the weight of Orpheus’s dominance sinking into his chest. The connection between them was sharp, volatile, and yet somehow inevitable. Even in the midst of their odd power struggle, this was how it always ended—Orpheus taking control, Frederick letting him.

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