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Summary
“Flins, be honest with me,” and maybe he was running on too little sleep, making his mouth a bit too loose, “is there a problem with it? Does it not get up?”
Flins froze.
“What?”
“Your–”
“Dear Master Illuga,” Flins sat by the edge of the bed. “There’s no need to continue that sequence of words,” he gently explained, ignoring the blush that rose to his pale cheeks.
It wasn’t often that he managed to fluster the ever so teasing Flins.
“We can find a way to work this out,” Illuga insisted, his hand finding Flins' to hold it in empathy.
or; 5 times they almost do it, and 1 time they actually do it.