Lucien's control snapped like a taut wire. With a low, guttural growl, he spun Elian around so fast the smaller man gasped, pressing his chest flush against the heavy wooden door.
Elian's palms slapped flat against the grain as Lucien shoved his ruined pants the rest of the way down, leaving them pooled at his ankles. Lucien's own trousers followed, kicked aside impatiently. Only the thin linen of their shirts remained, rucked up and useless now.
He reached for the small vial of scented oil he kept on the side table—meant for sore muscles after training, now repurposed for something far more primal.
Lucien poured a generous amount over his fingers, then slicked it over Elian's tight entrance and down the length of his own throbbing cock.
The cool liquid made Elian shiver and arch back instinctively.
