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    Summary

    Stolas lets out a surprised gasp when Blitzø suddenly lets the garter snap back to its original place after he's been stretching it as far as it would go.

    "Quiet," Blitzø chides him, daring to click his tongue at him. Bastard.

    "You shouldn't even be here," Stolas chides back, although his voice doesn't hold any grudge. He's too out of breath for that, his desires much too apparent to hide. He wants. "It's bad luck, darling-"

    "Want me to go?"

    Stolas outright glares at him, fingers tightening around his lapels as he pulls him close. "Don't you fucking dare."

    Thirty minutes until the ceremony.

    Just enough time for-

    Language:
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