[Trevor somehow doubts it, given the time. More's the pity, but he's hardly going to complain about having Adrian at his side all night. He won't admit to having been entranced by the dhampir before, but this particular wardrobe selection has Trevor questioning the notion of thrall. But Trevor elected to trust Adrian a long time ago, and along with that trust comes a certainty that Adrian would never, even if it were possible.
The beading is an interesting touch, though. Trevor has to resist the urge to run his fingers through the bits hanging from Adrian's wrist, which is probably the most mature decision he's made all day. Instead he pulls Adrian up from the couch and wraps an arm tightly around the dhampir's waist, leaning close to press their foreheads together and find that God, Adrian even smells mouthwatering. Trevor's cologne is subtle, musky without being overwhelming, but whatever Adrian's wearing? It reminds Trevor of sin; of sacred things in holy places being utterly defiled by wicked hands.
Trevor almost suggests skipping dinner altogether, almost closes the remaining distance between them to steal the kiss that he's aching for. But that would be defeating the purpose of this night, which was, very simply, that Adrian deserves nice things, and Trevor intends to treat him to them without complaint for once.]
You look... [Trevor pauses to think, because there are a million complimentary adjectives running through his head, and none of them seem sufficient to summarize how weak he's made Trevor. So instead, he settles for:]
no subject
[Trevor somehow doubts it, given the time. More's the pity, but he's hardly going to complain about having Adrian at his side all night. He won't admit to having been entranced by the dhampir before, but this particular wardrobe selection has Trevor questioning the notion of thrall. But Trevor elected to trust Adrian a long time ago, and along with that trust comes a certainty that Adrian would never, even if it were possible.
The beading is an interesting touch, though. Trevor has to resist the urge to run his fingers through the bits hanging from Adrian's wrist, which is probably the most mature decision he's made all day. Instead he pulls Adrian up from the couch and wraps an arm tightly around the dhampir's waist, leaning close to press their foreheads together and find that God, Adrian even smells mouthwatering. Trevor's cologne is subtle, musky without being overwhelming, but whatever Adrian's wearing? It reminds Trevor of sin; of sacred things in holy places being utterly defiled by wicked hands.
Trevor almost suggests skipping dinner altogether, almost closes the remaining distance between them to steal the kiss that he's aching for. But that would be defeating the purpose of this night, which was, very simply, that Adrian deserves nice things, and Trevor intends to treat him to them without complaint for once.]
You look... [Trevor pauses to think, because there are a million complimentary adjectives running through his head, and none of them seem sufficient to summarize how weak he's made Trevor. So instead, he settles for:]
Decent.