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    Summary

    Owen had been drunk enough to be pleasantly swimming, eyes blinking languidly— he wasn’t going to turn down free wine, especially from the Goldsmith cellars. But at the sight of Pyro crawling into Scott’s lap with no sense of propriety, he had sat straight and cold and sober, heat rushing to his bloodless face and fingers tightening on his goblet.

    Scott had looked… smug, was the only word for it, pulling Pyro’s head down to rest against his shoulder, and indulgently bringing his hand up to run through his fledglings dark hair. Owen found his eyes drawn helplessly to the motion, fingers cold and stiff where they were clenched on the goblet and the table surface, pupils dilated in the dim candle flicker light of the formerly grand banquet hall. Scott had made eye contact with him, his smile slow and sharp. A bare flicker of pointed white teeth flashed on his bottom lip as Pyro let out a content sigh and relaxed, half on Scott’s lap, and half tucked onto the grand chair Scott had positioned at the head of the table.

    Language:
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