For all the heated kisses, Benedict’s mouth feels dry. He forces himself not to press into Silver’s touch, lest he appear desperate, but there’s no denying the pleased sound that escapes his lips. As Silver draws back, Benedict sits up, too, hastily working at the rest of his layers - shrugging aside his vest, pulling his cravat loose, moving his suspenders down. It’s almost as much of a production as undressing a lady.

For his trousers, he has to sit up on his knees to manage the buttons that hold them in place, though he’s admittedly distracted by looking at Silver while he undresses. Beautifully golden tan with his defined muscles, and even something about the way his body is marred is endlessly attractive. Benedict suddenly feels almost embarrassed, glad that his own pale and soft body is mostly covered still by his shirt and his flannels.