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    Summary

    Von Lycaon stood flush behind Wise, chest pressed forward, knees slightly bent to stay level with the smaller man’s body. One hand steadied itself at Wise’s waist, the other braced against the wall above his head. Wise stood underneath him, face turned to the wall, chest close to the cool brick.

    A breath dragged slow through Lycaon’s nose, shoulders tensing with the effort to contain himself. When he finally spoke, the words came low. “Master Proxy… forgive me, but… why are we not engaging in this act somewhere more… discreet?”

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