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    Summary

    You tip your head, tossing the pencil aside. You’ll keep eye contact, naturally. He’ll praise you more if you follow the rules, right?

    “You’ll teach me,” you murmur, tossing the pencil aside your fingers making for the button of his pants. “Won’t you?”

    Rafayel raises an eyebrow, but it doesn’t cover up the way his breath catches in his throat. “Of course,” he says, low, husky. So unlike him, and yet exactly who he’s always been. “I’ll teach you everything I know.”

    ———

    Or: Rafayel was never talking about a pencil during that drawing lesson, and you know it.

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