Otter Creek I'll [m]ake your timber shiver

The demand had not been fought against, the weight from his back having disappeared gradually. For a moment, he'd only slumped forward, recollecting what thoughts had once been lost. When he'd righted himself, his eyes had found their way towards the other, shamelessly trailing up along his underside before meeting his own gaze. His lips had lifted then in a silent snarl, offering a threat, but knowing that he had no way of truly backing it up. For even if he'd wanted to attack, he knew he wouldn't get very far, unable to risk bringing harm to someone capable of providing him with such warmth. "You won't tell anyone about this," the boy had stated. His tone had suggested that he didn't want an argument, but, honestly, he was in no position to be doling out commands.

Without having thought much of it, he'd lurched forward then, aiming to position himself over the other male. His intentions were only to pin him, to keep him from leaving despite a little voice in the back of his head having insisted that his doing so wouldn't be an issue. The ghost would remain, Xan wanted to believe, but he didn't trust his assumptions. Thus, if permitted to do so, he'd bring his body down upon the other, chest pressed against his own so that he might better control the situation—if that was even possible at this point. "Call me Xan," he'd then said, eyes narrowing. He'd not had the opportunity to correct him thus far, much to his displeasure. For as thrilling as the name sounded on Adonis' lips, it was still one that the boy felt disconnected from.