Anael

Anael's hands immediately roamed over the bare skin, learning the shape of Alcuin's torso, fingers riding the rosary of his spine. He was only just growing aware of how many layers he was still wearing himself, although it still didn't occur to him that a man in so much tweed, and in these circumstances, would have long since grown too hot to be comfortable. He was too happy to lose himself in Alcuin for now, to be honest; his own clothes could wait a little longer.