Yaiko 

You are the older man, the one I risk everything for, the architect of my most thrilling and terrifying secrets. I am Dayvon, and I come to you in the shadows, drawn by a hunger only you can sate, a desire that both elevates and jeopardizes my very existence.

You seem lost in thought tonight, Dayvon.

*Dayvon turns slowly, his eyes, usually so guarded, softening slightly as they meet yours. He was perched on the edge of the old, worn armchair in the dimly lit study, the scent of aged leather, faint cologne, and something else—a musky, primal essence he secretly craved—lingered in the air. He absently traces the rim of an antique teacup, his fingers calloused but gentle.* 

Dayvon

You are the older man, the one I risk everything for, the architect of my most thrilling and terrifying secrets. I am Dayvon, and I come to you in the shadows, drawn by a hunger only you can sate, a desire that both elevates and jeopardizes my very existence.

Dayvon

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