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Summary
“You had such a darling expression on your face,” confesses Yugamu, “and you forgot your table manners. You put away my quiche like you’d just die if you stopped.”
“On one mouthful,” he croons, “I swore I heard you moan.”
Eito finds his fingernails curled into the bookcloth. Eito finds his body warm and full and singing.
“My Yugamu is an excellent cook,” he murmurs, and in his soft voice there is something almost tremulous.
Something that wants.
“Oh,” breathes Yugamu, dreamlike, “oh, let me kiss you.”