Michael's gaze flicked around the room, his eyes lingering on the dark wood furniture, the ornate mirror, and the soft, golden glow of the lamp on the nightstand. He seemed to be taking in every detail, his expression unreadable. Spencer's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew that look on Michael's face - it was a look of calculation, of strategy. And he knew that he was in trouble.
Michael's gaze lingered on the bed, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. He cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving the bed, and said, "You make it seem like as if I'm gonna eat you." The words were laced with a subtle sarcasm, and Spencer's eyes narrowed in response.
Spencer's eyes flashed with indignation as he shot back, "Because it seems like you're going to devour me whole, one way or another." His words were laced with a hint of defiance, and his tone was sharp.
Michael's chuckle was low and husky, his eyes glinting with amusement as he responded, "I won't devour you unless you're begging me to."
Spencer's brow furrowed in surprise, his mind racing with the brazenness of Michael's words. "I wouldn't beg, even if the fate of the world depended on it," he thought to himself, his tone laced with a hint of disdain.
Spencer's smile was sly, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he probed, "Oh, do you have a kink for being begged to, Michael?"
Michael's lips remained sealed for a moment, his expression unreadable, before they parted slightly, and he spoke in a low, even tone. "How bold." The words were a measured response, but Spencer could sense the underlying tension beneath them. Then, Michael continued, "No, I don't have a kink for being begged to."
Spencer's unexpected silence hung in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to stretch on forever. Then, without another word, he simply pulled the covers back up to his neck, his eyes never leaving Michael's face. The moment was heavy with unspoken words, but Spencer seemed to deliberately ignore the elephant in the room. Instead, he changed the subject, his tone light and casual. "The party is almost over, you should go."
Michael's fingers brushed against the intricately engraved watch as he pulled it out, his eyes scanning the face with a quiet reverence. "You're right," he said, his voice low and measured. The words were a gentle acknowledgement, but the tone was tinged with a hint of reluctance. He paused for a moment, the watch still clutched in his hand, before looking up at Spencer with a quiet intensity. "Well then, I'll be leaving now, prince."
As Michael reached the door, he hesitated for a moment, his hand on the handle. Then, he turned back to face the prince, who lay in the bed with an air of quiet confidence. A small, wry smile played on Michael's lips as he said, "Invite me to a tea party, hm?" The words were a subtle challenge, a hint that Michael was not so easily dismissed. He held Spencer's gaze for a moment, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and defiance. And then, with a quiet sense of satisfaction, he turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.
As Michael disappeared from view, Spencer's gaze drifted back to the ceiling, his eyes unfocused. He pulled the blanket up to his nose, the soft fabric a comforting barrier against the coolness of the room. The sound that escaped his lips was barely audible, a low, husky "Mn" that was more felt than heard. It was a small, almost imperceptible noise, a gentle acknowledgment of Michael's departure, and a quiet admission of his own lingering unease.
