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Summary
Every time he goes back to Snezhnaya, he's reminded that he is not a good man.
If he were a good man, he wouldn't get so excited at the sound of little feet tip-toeing across his bedroom floor. If he were a good man, he wouldn't let his littlest brother sneak beneath the covers, and he definitely wouldn't have molten heat gathering in his core when little legs wrap around his thigh and short arms encase his chest. He's a bad man, because there isn't an ounce of embarrassment or shame in the amount of arousal that pools in his underwear when soft, plush lips part and breathe against his neck.