Silke's voice trailed off as he realized what he'd just said.
His face flushed a deep, embarrassing red.
Seram's grin turned smug. "Your favourite, huh?"
"Shut up.." Silke groaned, grabbing the pillow and smacking him with it, weakly, since his arms were still wobbly from the panic high.
"You heard nothing. I didn't say that."
Seram caught the pillow easily and tossed it aside. "No take-backs. You said it. My dick is your favourite."
Silke let out a strangled sound and tried to roll away, but Seram was already there, crawling over him with lazy, predatory ease and trapping him in place. Sheets rustled between them, heat blooming in the space where their skin met.
"Don't.." Silke warned half-heartedly, voice muffled in the mattress.
Seram leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Don't what? Gloat? Celebrate? Print it on a mug? A plaster on every billboard for the whole B city to see?"
"I hate you."
"You know you don't." he smiled lazily.
