"It is." Dean began to unbutton his own shirt, his movements deliberate, his eyes locked on Arion's. "I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece. I'm going to make you forget about reports and infected beasts and the weight of the empire on your shoulders. By the time I'm done with you, the only thing you'll remember how to say is my name."
Arion's breath hitched. The confident, teasing Dean was one thing. This… this commanding, dominant version of his omega was something else entirely. It was a side of Dean that only ever emerged when Arion was at his most vulnerable, his most worn thin. It was a gift.
"Dean," he started, his voice lower than he intended.
"No." Dean slipped his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. In the dim light, he was all lean muscle and pale skin, with Arion's silver ring casting a stark light on him. "You don't get to talk yet. You just get to watch."
