Xavier looked in those shy eyes and smirked, "Baby, you were praising someone?"
"I praised the aesthetic," Alvin corrected lightly. "Art appreciation."
Xavier's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Then appreciate this."
He leaned closer, close enough that Alvin could feel his warmth, his presence overwhelming. Alvin refused to look—stubbornly staring at the wall instead.
"Tch," Alvin clicked his tongue. "Trying to compensate now?"
Xavier chuckled, low and rumbling. "You never complained before."
Alvin finally turned his head, blue eyes sharp and defiant. "I also never asked you to strip like a jealous teenager."
Xavier's hand came up, gently but firmly tilting Alvin's chin back toward him.
"You like pushing me," Xavier said.
"I like watching you lose control," Alvin replied, smiling wickedly.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other—sarcasm and heat colliding in the narrow space between them. The rain outside grew heavier, as if echoing the tension in the room.
