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Summary
He can still smell roses. His junior had visited, a knight in tow, and they all smell the same, really. The smell is burned into his nose and he takes another slow breath as he grabs the front of his slacks. Every inhale stokes the simmering fire hotter. It takes him far longer than he’d like to admit to work out what’s happening as he leans back there, massaging the front of his pants like it’ll help. The incandescent tug of his instincts to track that rose scent and take what he wants wars with the knowledge that who he wants is not at the other end. Sharp teeth draw blood, canines digging into his lower lip, and he sucks a breath in only for it to shudder through him. The curse surges with it, tugging at the edges of his sanity, and—he can’t go out like this.