[ Each drag of fingers to his scalp just tightens that bundle in his stomach, makes Lyneyβs cock stain the inside of his underwear with pre-cum. It was manageable before β a fantasy and private release where he didnβt have to worry about consequences. The thought of Wriothesley behind him, taking him or even pinned down into a soft bed to let Lyney truly performβ¦
Dozens of ways that frustrate and entice him further had infiltrated his mind when he was most lonely.
But now, he feels the proof of that throbbing against his tongue.
Wriothesley was unruly and two hands keep him from twitching too much as the boy works. Deep drops, slowly by half inches to gain rhythm and add music to their madness. The sucks and slurps all but replacing sly and charming words.
They get only brief moments of watching one another before Lyney abandons it and closes his eyes, humming with a mouth full of cock that begins to chase the back of his throat.
The taste wasβ¦ something. Salty and thick, pent up he imagines. He doesnβt care β it was his payment like pitiful Mora for performances long left on the street. The heavy breath and the sound of Wriothesley unsettled in his chair was more than enough.
[ Lyney takes him deeper with each bob of his head and Wriothesley doesn't know if it's time gone by or him making this so hopelessly electric. He hisses under his breath, bites back curses, does everything he can not to rock forward into Lyney's perfect mouth. It's his performance, his show, and Wriothesley is enraptured.
The minutes build and with them, the soft sweet heat in his stomach. He can feel himself leaking precum heavily against Lyney's tongue, knows he'll taste himself when they next kiss. The thought of that--the proof of what they've done, something only they can know, something that makes Lyney his if only for tonight--nearly takes the breath from him, steals all his good caution out from under him, leaves him hot and wanting and ever closer to the finish. He should warn him he's getting there, knows he should offer some kind of verbal cue, but the words are impossible to reach under the pleasure, so he scrabbles for one of Lyney's hands with his own and squeezes it lightly when he finds it, hoping senselessly he's understood. ]
[ A tight vice was all he offers. No goading words, no vulnerabilities. This was simple. Wriothesley wanted him. He wanted Wriothesley. Lyney's selfless in ways, selfish in another and providing pleasure was a mutual benefit. He loved when his lover squirmed, made noises, praised him for a job well done... but most importantly, he just wanted to bring forth something good to this world for those he cares for.
The pressure to Lyney's throat tightens and every so often he slows his sucks to linger at Wriothesley's tip. His chest tightens in ways that make him wince, so he scoots closer between those muscular thighs to settle more.
It's sudden when his tongue drags in just the right way β earning a pawing Wriothesley to his hand. He abandons the grip of his base to lace fingers between Wriothesley's β oh how different their grasp was but they hold tight as Lyney pulls back enough to let him rest to his cheek, spit and pre mixed just underneath that bruise under his eye. ]
You're close. [ He knows, he's twitching against him. ] It's okay. We won't leave a mess. Consider it a β mmm, disappearing act.
[ Peppered kisses trail mid-length back to his tip, welcoming him back inside that warm embrace. Caution was for those concerned with following rules, but they shatter any Wriothesley wanted to obey and Lyney had to obey. Downing him, a little past mid-way until he gags harshly. Lyney doesn't pull away, instead silently inviting him to finish. ]
[ Lyney has it right--he's accepting of it, what with his sultry promise of what's to come and the way he takes him back in--and it only takes a few more bobs of his head, a few more gags on his cock before Wriothesley finishes. He swears he sees white with it, swears that for a moment nothing else exists but Lyney and himself and the warm mouth taking his load, every thick spurt paired with a twitch of his dick.
He practically sags in the chair when it's over, breath heaving, eyes closed. But the recovery is a brief one--he doesn't want to keep this to himself, wants to share it with Lyney, wants him close again. He opens his eyes, hazy, searching him out, hoping to kiss him. ]
[ It was a performance, sure β but he's honest with his wants. To taste Wriothesley means he so willingly accepted him and the attention they both want. The interest, the longing... It happens suddenly and Lyney tenses up, gulping loud β swallowing harder. His mouth stays latched, tongue cradling the underside of his shaft before pulling away with only spit connecting them.
There's a soft, labored pant past the boy's lips his knees pressing deeper to lean up and before Wriothesley can feel lost in this arousal, Lyney tugs him down. Gripping onto his tie and giving him the kiss they both so desperately want. ]
[ Though his body wants nothing more than to trudge over to the couch and fall asleep straight away, there are more important things at hand--Lyney's kiss, namely. Just as he had imagined, Wriothesley can taste himself on the boy's lips and tongue, and that alone chases away any urges for rest, spurring forth thoughts for what comes next. He wants Lyney to feel every bit as good as he did, wants to taste Lyney next, wants him coming undone under his hands and mouth. When they part, he kisses at Lyney's jaw, nudging gently against his ear to whisper soft and low. ]
Switch with me.
[ He's out of the chair soon after, pushing a hand through his own hair, getting to his knees. It's been a while since he's done this, but he's eager--he only hopes Lyney will enjoy it as much as he's willing to give it. ]
[ They seemed fortunate to care less about the mess and more about keeping things clean. Tongues chase one another, lips graze and force rough for more. Always more, it feels. Where Wriothesley is thinking of what's next, Lyney's stuck on now. Cologne, spit, cum, soft texture of a tie β all of his senses in overdrive. His chest still stings, ribs tender but Wriothesley is slow and soft.
So, imagine when their lips part and instead, the set changes. A new act, a new scene β and Lyney moves on autopilot. Crawling into the chair just as slouched, thighs spread and stomach a bundle of excitement he can't hide. Lyney's cock was pitifully hard, aching so apparent, so clear even under his clothes. ]
What a view, Your Grace. Heh.
[ Lyney whispers breathlessly, a hand quick to palm at himself through layers. ]
It'll make for good thoughts when I'm in my bed alone. [ Close to what it was β the vision before him was far better than any fantasy. A soft little groan slips past his lips, anxious as he was for more. ] You have a responsibility to your inmates to take care of them, do you not? When they need you most?
[ with Lyney sat in the chair, he rests between his legs, one cheek at his thigh, smiling with Lyney's words. Thinking of him in bed? The pressure is on, then--he'll have to make the reality something better, something greater than what Lyney can construct with his mind. ]
Should I take that to mean you need me, then? [ He moves his hand to replace Lyney's, rubbing him slowly through the fabric, feeling out the stiff shape of his cock. If this is any indicator, then yes, Lyney might just need him right now, and luckily he's only too happy to provide. ] The honor is mine. But you should know I don't do this for just any inmate. Regardless of what they need.
[ He leans forward, lips parted, pulling Lyney from his slacks and underwear with a deft hand. No teasing--he works him over in full, heavy strokes within his fist, looking up to gauge his reaction. ]
[ Red was a color that looked so good on his pale skin β heat on his cheeks, blush dancing across those rounded features under his eyes. Why did he have to turn the idea around...? Needing someone other than Lynette β feels wrong... but fuck, he can't lie to himself.
A hand replaces a hand and Lyney bucks up just enough, to cause that friction that causes coos past his lips. A relaxed hand moves to comb through Wriothesley's bangs, thumbing at one of his temple idly. Anxiously. ]
Color me flattered... someone with such a smug mouth wants to use it badly.
[ That back and forth resurfaces, the one that sparked this flame. It happens too quick, Lyney pouts and sputters his lips when he's free. He's modest, not too big or tiny for his size β but he's so stiff that there was nearly no give. Wriothesley works him hard enough to make him sit back, legs spreading wider and welcoming his efforts. Fingers knot at Wriothesley's hair with eagerness for more, silent as he lets the man lead. For now. ]
[ Lyney's only too right--this 'smug mouth' of his would like to be put to work, and it happens in small measures at first: a kiss at the pale sweep of his thigh, then at the head of his cock, the underside. He metes out fragmented suggestions of what's to come as he pumps Lyney with a firm, gentle fist, enjoys the drag of fingers through his hair.
Before, he never liked or disliked doing this. It was, more often than not, a matter of necessity. As far as he can remember, anyhow. But now he finds he's enjoying it, losing himself to it, wanting to do it right for Lyney. If there are any reservations left to speak of, they've fallen apart before the desire Lyney provokes in him, the weight and shape of his dick, his scent, the way he bucks and fidgets. Wriothesley doesn't know who he's drawing this out for more--for himself, or for the boy whose legs he's sat between. Perhaps he's assumed the role Lyney usually takes; this is his show, moving at his pace.
But now he'd like to move on to the next act. With his hand at the base of Lyney's cock, he takes his cock into his mouth, closing his eyes. He holds that position for a moment, holds him there in his mouth with his tongue cradling the shaft--then he moves, head bobbing just slightly, taking him back and forth in small passes to start. ]
[ How can he drag his gaze away? Wriothesley had done well to make those bad feelings, bitter and sour on his mind, fade away. Every bit of attention feels honest, feels wanted. For all Lyney could surmise, he could have been bent over the desk, taken and left wanting. Wriothesley was kind with how quickly he goes to show Lyney pleasure. Each squeeze wrangles a twitch from his cock and whimper past his lips.
Two hands replace one, cupping the back of the man's head but never guiding him. The discomfort of stepping back and letting someone have their spotlight instead... he's only allowed that with Lynette. ]
Damn you, Wriothesley... This mouth...
[ Huffing like a brat, he just laughs β disbelief that something could feel as good as this. The teasing was one thing, but now as Wriothesley takes him with each small drop β his stomach feels hollow. It's so damn hard to stay still. ]
Don't stop. Please.
[ Again, a soft beg β only for Wriothesley, for the man who can cure this loneliness and frustration. ]
[ He wouldn't dream of stopping, won't leave this place between Lyney's legs until he's undone and trembling. Slowly he falls into a rhythm with his hand and mouth, the circle of his fist following the lead of his lips, never leaving Lyney wanting. He wonders what Lyney thinks of with each movement, what's going through his head right now. Just pleasure? Some pride for getting the Duke on his knees? Maybe his darling Lynette?
He opens his eyes, looks up at him from his place at the ground, never pausing his ministrations. He wonders if he can tease from him the answer to his question--wonders if he can make Lyney think only of him. ]
[ All he feels is heat from someone he thought was so cold. So locked away and out of reach but his grasp has him in a vice. Aching against the flesh like handcuffs, his cock smothered by the embrace gifted. Sinking further into the chair, the boy can't stay still. His knees want to clamp shut, his hips buck up, and his hands can't help but comb right back into Wriothesley's scalp.
Every time his eyes flutter... he thinks of this man, focused on his duty and desires. There is no Lynette, no one else but him β and maybe in the morning he'll find that terrifying.
Wriothesley may be overworked at times, but there's a new life in his eyes Lyney can't recall seeing. They just stare at one another, the boy's lip trembling between his own teeth. Words failed him but now... he uses them like an ace. ]
You're β good at this. You want to be good at this, for me, huh? [ But, every time he tries to be slick and provide some power between them β Wriothesley wrangles it back by hitting a sweet spot. ] N-Nnn... fuck. Right there. It β It felt so good.
[ He does want to be good at this for Lyney, wants to tease more of those warm bumbling words from him. He's not afraid to want to please his partner; he craves the pleasure in Lyney every bit as much as Lyney himself does, all the things that speak desire. The urge to undo him coaxes him forward until the crown of Lyney's cock touches his throat and his lips reach the absolute bottom of Lyney's length, and he holds him there, swallows around him, purrs softly with all his praises. If Lyney wants to fuck into his mouth like this, he's only too happy to let him--if he wants to cum like this, all the better, Wriothesley thinks through the thick haze that clouds his mind.
Anything. Anything at all. As long as it feels good--as long as it keeps Lyney like this for him, hands in his hair, legs trembling at either side of him. ]
[ He can't help but wipe away the sweat on his face with the palm of his hand. Lyney's huffy, pouty but so overwhelmed with pleasure he tries to bundle up those complicated emotions. He wants him, more than he thinks he would. It's attraction at first β but there's no use claiming it to only be based on physical. Even as Wriothesley works himself downwards, swallowing him whole β there's something about this that didn't feel fueled by mere lust.
That'll be a problem, won't it? Complicated, messy... and Lyney tries to maintain order by playing cards at the right time.
Wriothesley is the one who really won at cards because Lyney forfeits his for this pleasure. His tiny waist hitches up, Lyney's Adam's apple a bob that doesn't stop. Can he breathe? Can he speak? He's already getting close. ]
Fuck. I swear I'm usually not this fast β I'm going to β finish here. On your tongue β nod if that's pleasing. If not, l-let me finish here.
[ Lyney's thumb swipes over the cut of Wriothesley's jaw, papping it softly β even feeling himself from how good the section was. Groaning and sinking further in... Wriothesley was given a gift of power. Of figuring out the boy's own ticks and his own desires. ]
[ He nods his answer lightly, switching back to his prior rhythm, mouth moving back and forth slickly. He's ready for what Lyney wants to give him, to swallow everything down in one fell swoop, to feel the boy straining and trembling beneath him. He's ready, more than anything, to see the mask slip a little.
Because it's beautiful having Lyney like this: raw, unfiltered, unscripted. Does he have any idea how enticing he is like that, how alluring it is when he has to search for his words instead of having them prepared ten steps ahead? Wriothesley doesn't think Lyney does know--so he imparts the thought upon him silently, rewards him for his honesty with the movements of his mouth and hand. ]
[ They passed a threshold they can't easily package back up. They can't forget this exists. The way the other tastes, the aching they both have... they'd be fools. Failing fools to do so. Wriothesley nods and Lyney swoons like a songbird, a groan from the back of his throat he swears was from the pit of his stomach. That's where he felt the most arousal β an anxiousness to trust the man like this.
Lyney's hands settle at the back of Wriothesley's head, letting him work but still needing that connection. He hisses under his breath, lower half like a snake how it squirms upwards to meet his mouth. He doesn't care if there's a lost rhythm of if maybe he relaxes to let Wriothesley work.
It's a haze, smoke and mirrors but somehow... it's so clear how Lyney was starved for this.
He feels different than Lynette β different than anyone who dared touch him for whatever dubious reason he needed them to. With Wriothesley's hair sprouted between balled fists, Lyney finishes with a croaked whimper. Head thrown back, arching back off the chair. Spurt after spurt coats his tongue and throat β unable to hold back from his own need.
It was proof, pure proof of how badly he wanted to explore these feelings. His lover's name was a soft whimper, sharp like a blade before he collapses back into a fit of panting, one eye pried open to look at him... checking as if he half expected Wriothesley to be done with him already.
[ It's exactly what Wriothesley hopes for, a total letting go--Lyney's hands fisting his hair and hips rocking into his mouth until the finish hits and he can taste the rush of him, warm and full and bitter against his tongue, every spurt pooling thickly onto his tongue. He swallows all of it eagerly, sitting back on his haunches when it's over, eyes half-lidded and lips glistening. He catches the look Lyney gives him, and offers one in return--something bordering inquisitive, still hazy, still in a place rooted firmly in desire.
Should he say something? He wonders about that--he was never good at this part, never sure of what to do with himself in the aftermath. ]
...Everything alright?
[ It slants a little more lame than romantic, but he means it. Not just in the emotional sense; he hasn't forgotten the beating Lyney took today, the bandages over his ribs. All that moving around could've agitated something. ]
[ They didn't know if it was going to end right here. A slice of a blade, before and after this shared moment β where would they reside? Lyney's hands remain at the back of his head for as long as he can but if Wriothesley pulls back fully, Lyney drags his fingers back softly. ]
I'm alright... h-hah... just stole the air out of my lungs. [ And he smirks just a small, little teasing way. ] And stole something else from me.
[ Lyney sits up with a soft grunt, lowering his legs off of him fully but still. he finds the end of Wriothesley's tie and tugs it towards him. ]
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no subject
Dozens of ways that frustrate and entice him further had infiltrated his mind when he was most lonely.
But now, he feels the proof of that throbbing against his tongue.
Wriothesley was unruly and two hands keep him from twitching too much as the boy works. Deep drops, slowly by half inches to gain rhythm and add music to their madness. The sucks and slurps all but replacing sly and charming words.
They get only brief moments of watching one another before Lyney abandons it and closes his eyes, humming with a mouth full of cock that begins to chase the back of his throat.
The taste wasβ¦ something. Salty and thick, pent up he imagines. He doesnβt care β it was his payment like pitiful Mora for performances long left on the street. The heavy breath and the sound of Wriothesley unsettled in his chair was more than enough.
For now. ]
no subject
The minutes build and with them, the soft sweet heat in his stomach. He can feel himself leaking precum heavily against Lyney's tongue, knows he'll taste himself when they next kiss. The thought of that--the proof of what they've done, something only they can know, something that makes Lyney his if only for tonight--nearly takes the breath from him, steals all his good caution out from under him, leaves him hot and wanting and ever closer to the finish. He should warn him he's getting there, knows he should offer some kind of verbal cue, but the words are impossible to reach under the pleasure, so he scrabbles for one of Lyney's hands with his own and squeezes it lightly when he finds it, hoping senselessly he's understood. ]
no subject
The pressure to Lyney's throat tightens and every so often he slows his sucks to linger at Wriothesley's tip. His chest tightens in ways that make him wince, so he scoots closer between those muscular thighs to settle more.
It's sudden when his tongue drags in just the right way β earning a pawing Wriothesley to his hand. He abandons the grip of his base to lace fingers between Wriothesley's β oh how different their grasp was but they hold tight as Lyney pulls back enough to let him rest to his cheek, spit and pre mixed just underneath that bruise under his eye. ]
You're close. [ He knows, he's twitching against him. ] It's okay. We won't leave a mess. Consider it a β mmm, disappearing act.
[ Peppered kisses trail mid-length back to his tip, welcoming him back inside that warm embrace. Caution was for those concerned with following rules, but they shatter any Wriothesley wanted to obey and Lyney had to obey. Downing him, a little past mid-way until he gags harshly. Lyney doesn't pull away, instead silently inviting him to finish. ]
no subject
He practically sags in the chair when it's over, breath heaving, eyes closed. But the recovery is a brief one--he doesn't want to keep this to himself, wants to share it with Lyney, wants him close again. He opens his eyes, hazy, searching him out, hoping to kiss him. ]
no subject
There's a soft, labored pant past the boy's lips his knees pressing deeper to lean up and before Wriothesley can feel lost in this arousal, Lyney tugs him down. Gripping onto his tie and giving him the kiss they both so desperately want. ]
no subject
Switch with me.
[ He's out of the chair soon after, pushing a hand through his own hair, getting to his knees. It's been a while since he's done this, but he's eager--he only hopes Lyney will enjoy it as much as he's willing to give it. ]
no subject
So, imagine when their lips part and instead, the set changes. A new act, a new scene β and Lyney moves on autopilot. Crawling into the chair just as slouched, thighs spread and stomach a bundle of excitement he can't hide. Lyney's cock was pitifully hard, aching so apparent, so clear even under his clothes. ]
What a view, Your Grace. Heh.
[ Lyney whispers breathlessly, a hand quick to palm at himself through layers. ]
It'll make for good thoughts when I'm in my bed alone. [ Close to what it was β the vision before him was far better than any fantasy. A soft little groan slips past his lips, anxious as he was for more. ] You have a responsibility to your inmates to take care of them, do you not? When they need you most?
no subject
Should I take that to mean you need me, then? [ He moves his hand to replace Lyney's, rubbing him slowly through the fabric, feeling out the stiff shape of his cock. If this is any indicator, then yes, Lyney might just need him right now, and luckily he's only too happy to provide. ] The honor is mine. But you should know I don't do this for just any inmate. Regardless of what they need.
[ He leans forward, lips parted, pulling Lyney from his slacks and underwear with a deft hand. No teasing--he works him over in full, heavy strokes within his fist, looking up to gauge his reaction. ]
no subject
A hand replaces a hand and Lyney bucks up just enough, to cause that friction that causes coos past his lips. A relaxed hand moves to comb through Wriothesley's bangs, thumbing at one of his temple idly. Anxiously. ]
Color me flattered... someone with such a smug mouth wants to use it badly.
[ That back and forth resurfaces, the one that sparked this flame. It happens too quick, Lyney pouts and sputters his lips when he's free. He's modest, not too big or tiny for his size β but he's so stiff that there was nearly no give. Wriothesley works him hard enough to make him sit back, legs spreading wider and welcoming his efforts. Fingers knot at Wriothesley's hair with eagerness for more, silent as he lets the man lead. For now. ]
no subject
Before, he never liked or disliked doing this. It was, more often than not, a matter of necessity. As far as he can remember, anyhow. But now he finds he's enjoying it, losing himself to it, wanting to do it right for Lyney. If there are any reservations left to speak of, they've fallen apart before the desire Lyney provokes in him, the weight and shape of his dick, his scent, the way he bucks and fidgets. Wriothesley doesn't know who he's drawing this out for more--for himself, or for the boy whose legs he's sat between. Perhaps he's assumed the role Lyney usually takes; this is his show, moving at his pace.
But now he'd like to move on to the next act. With his hand at the base of Lyney's cock, he takes his cock into his mouth, closing his eyes. He holds that position for a moment, holds him there in his mouth with his tongue cradling the shaft--then he moves, head bobbing just slightly, taking him back and forth in small passes to start. ]
no subject
Two hands replace one, cupping the back of the man's head but never guiding him. The discomfort of stepping back and letting someone have their spotlight instead... he's only allowed that with Lynette. ]
Damn you, Wriothesley... This mouth...
[ Huffing like a brat, he just laughs β disbelief that something could feel as good as this. The teasing was one thing, but now as Wriothesley takes him with each small drop β his stomach feels hollow. It's so damn hard to stay still. ]
Don't stop. Please.
[ Again, a soft beg β only for Wriothesley, for the man who can cure this loneliness and frustration. ]
no subject
He opens his eyes, looks up at him from his place at the ground, never pausing his ministrations. He wonders if he can tease from him the answer to his question--wonders if he can make Lyney think only of him. ]
no subject
Every time his eyes flutter... he thinks of this man, focused on his duty and desires. There is no Lynette, no one else but him β and maybe in the morning he'll find that terrifying.
Wriothesley may be overworked at times, but there's a new life in his eyes Lyney can't recall seeing. They just stare at one another, the boy's lip trembling between his own teeth. Words failed him but now... he uses them like an ace. ]
You're β good at this. You want to be good at this, for me, huh? [ But, every time he tries to be slick and provide some power between them β Wriothesley wrangles it back by hitting a sweet spot. ] N-Nnn... fuck. Right there. It β It felt so good.
no subject
Anything. Anything at all. As long as it feels good--as long as it keeps Lyney like this for him, hands in his hair, legs trembling at either side of him. ]
no subject
That'll be a problem, won't it? Complicated, messy... and Lyney tries to maintain order by playing cards at the right time.
Wriothesley is the one who really won at cards because Lyney forfeits his for this pleasure. His tiny waist hitches up, Lyney's Adam's apple a bob that doesn't stop. Can he breathe? Can he speak? He's already getting close. ]
Fuck. I swear I'm usually not this fast β I'm going to β finish here. On your tongue β nod if that's pleasing. If not, l-let me finish here.
[ Lyney's thumb swipes over the cut of Wriothesley's jaw, papping it softly β even feeling himself from how good the section was. Groaning and sinking further in... Wriothesley was given a gift of power. Of figuring out the boy's own ticks and his own desires. ]
no subject
Because it's beautiful having Lyney like this: raw, unfiltered, unscripted. Does he have any idea how enticing he is like that, how alluring it is when he has to search for his words instead of having them prepared ten steps ahead? Wriothesley doesn't think Lyney does know--so he imparts the thought upon him silently, rewards him for his honesty with the movements of his mouth and hand. ]
no subject
Lyney's hands settle at the back of Wriothesley's head, letting him work but still needing that connection. He hisses under his breath, lower half like a snake how it squirms upwards to meet his mouth. He doesn't care if there's a lost rhythm of if maybe he relaxes to let Wriothesley work.
It's a haze, smoke and mirrors but somehow... it's so clear how Lyney was starved for this.
He feels different than Lynette β different than anyone who dared touch him for whatever dubious reason he needed them to. With Wriothesley's hair sprouted between balled fists, Lyney finishes with a croaked whimper. Head thrown back, arching back off the chair. Spurt after spurt coats his tongue and throat β unable to hold back from his own need.
It was proof, pure proof of how badly he wanted to explore these feelings. His lover's name was a soft whimper, sharp like a blade before he collapses back into a fit of panting, one eye pried open to look at him... checking as if he half expected Wriothesley to be done with him already.
Some old habits are hard to kill. ]
no subject
Should he say something? He wonders about that--he was never good at this part, never sure of what to do with himself in the aftermath. ]
...Everything alright?
[ It slants a little more lame than romantic, but he means it. Not just in the emotional sense; he hasn't forgotten the beating Lyney took today, the bandages over his ribs. All that moving around could've agitated something. ]
no subject
I'm alright... h-hah... just stole the air out of my lungs. [ And he smirks just a small, little teasing way. ] And stole something else from me.
[ Lyney sits up with a soft grunt, lowering his legs off of him fully but still. he finds the end of Wriothesley's tie and tugs it towards him. ]
Any complaints about... what just happened?
[ He's at least honest enough to ask. Progress! ]