When Eric tells you to do something, especially in a close, intimate whisper, you do it.

Holding his gaze, he slips the scarf around the back of his own neck, sliding it over his skin in a slow pull. He loosely doubles it over, deliberately sweeping it against his chin and along his jaw, just to relish the feel of the fabric.

"How do I look?" he whispers back, coyly blinking up at him.

Like opposites, he's drawn to the chilled aura of Eric's body, the cool solidness under those tight black clothes.