Frederik was beginning to suspect that one of the great failures of his life had been mistaking quietness for weakness.
It was, at this point, an error so thoroughly disproven by reality that even thinking it felt insulting to the man currently straddling his hips with the composed authority of someone who had never once doubted where power sat between them.
Cecil looked down at him, dark hair slightly out of place, expression calm in that dangerous way that usually meant he had already made a decision and was simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. The sheets had twisted low around Frederik's waist, the room still heavy with warmth and the aftermath pheromones of intimacy, but Cecil himself looked far too collected for someone who had only minutes ago been decidedly less so.
Frederik lay there, one forearm over his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly and trying without much success to gather the remains of his discipline.
