Riven rose to his knees on the bed, slowly, theatrically tugging at the hem of his shirt. He locked eyes with Soren and, in an exaggeratedly slow motion, began peeling it up—inch by inch, revealing smooth, pale skin underneath. His tone dropped into a faux sultry whisper. "You sure you can handle the view without touching?"
Soren didn't react outwardly, but Riven saw the faint flare of his nostrils, the minuscule twitch in his jaw. Victory.
The shirt came off completely. Riven tossed it aside and held his arms out. "Ta-da~.
Soren's eyes swept over him with deliberate slowness. He didn't move an inch.
And that made Riven itch.
"…You really are punishing me," Riven muttered.
"Now, off with the trousers." Soren had his arms crossed, and a smile played on his lips. He was forcing Riven to put on a show, wasn't he?
Riven pouted but complied, he was not insane, he was not going to disobey Soren.
