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    Summary

    “Look at you…” Varka murmurs, Wriothesley stretched out on the bench beneath him, shirt slightly turned upward and abdomen exposed. He’s an alpha, but Wriothesley’s always had a thing for men stronger than him rather than weaker. “You’d make a lot of omegas go weak in the knees.”

    “Not after omegas,” Wriothesley says, briskly.

    “Me neither. Never could enjoy the idea of messing around with someone not strong enough to withstand some playfighting. Can you, though…?”

    Wrio swallows.

    “I think I can.”

    --

    alpha/alpha varkathesley

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