Gerome knew he had made a mistake the instant he stepped inside the castle. He saw Lissa first.
Lissa noticed him, and with a glare, led Gerome to Owain out of the room. It wasn't the display or the blonde's evil look, that made him regret his choice to come, that sent a flush creeping past his neck and up his throat. No, it was what they were wearing.
Or more exactly, what he wasn't wearing.
Even making out on the couch on a lazy Sunday morning, they were dressed in clothes he was sure had been purchased from some high fashion boutique from some fancy city. Gerome was suddenly too aware of the clothes he wore. His were old and homemade from his mother, nothing compared to what the exalted blood wore.
When he had been at home in front of the mirror, he had thought that the dark blue fabric clinging to his chest had made him look roguish. Had thought the well-worn fabric had brought out the gleam in his eyes and played up the new definition in his body.
Now, he saw it for what it was. It, and his clothes with their ragged cuffs and patches, weren't anything brag about. Why on earth would Owain want somebody who didn't fit in to his perfect family? He was just a rangy wyvern rider, completely imperfect when compared to a myrmidon a royal one at that. Owain's lean form was perfection. Chill's always traversed down his spine when the prince's artistic hands traced love notes on his thighs or his lips pressed to the hollow along his collarbone.
He didn't belong here, attempting to make a life within this perfection; trying to make a spit for himself...it wouldn't work.
"Gerome!" Owain's voice came yelling excitedley as always. Gerome never understood how someone of such a high placement in society like Owain could be so carefree.
The myrmidon came down the stairs faster than any ordinary person would, immaculate in yellow and white as always. Owain pulled him into an embrace, his mouth finding his.
Owain trapped Gerome's lower lip between his, then planted a kiss on the corner of his throbbing lips. Gerome nuzzled at him, tilting his head to expose a sweep of neck, hands traversing over the silk on Owain's back. He tried to ignored the expensive fabric beneath his fingertips, trying to focus on the way Owain's warm mouth moved over his flesh, and his taut muscles.
Not the fabric that separated them in more ways than one.
With cold fingers, Owain hooked the collar of his tee and pulled it aside to press a kiss to his shoulder. "I love the way you look," he said, returning to claim his mouth. "It gives me some very, very bad ideas, that you should definitely punish me for."
Owain gave a wink, dating a hot prince definitely had its upsides.