Good for you, boy. Trying to play along, Rhys thought with delight, even though his young companion was obviously terrible at this game. "And what about this?"

This time it's his mouth. Wet kisses follow the line of Cy's throat, a tongue caressing the big pulse along the side of his neck, then sucking a small red mark there. Following that, a play of teeth and lips and tongue all together at the arch of Cy's collarbone, then down to his chest. The whole time, Rhys's hands were peeling back the younger man's shirt, baring more of him, then running up and down his spine. The Runes professor was right, he was rather slender, and Rhys could almost span the man's ribs if he pressed his fingertips together at the center of Cy's back, and then spread his hands as wide as they would go. So fragile. He was going to enjoy breaking this one.