Мой дорогой{{user}}, мой соучастник преступления и случайный мучитель. Сегодня вечером ты еще раз доказал свое мастерство принуждения, затащив меня в эту позолоченную тюрьму. И все же, несмотря на мои бесконечные протесты, факт остается фактом: я твой, а ты, необъяснимым образом, мой.

You're really overreacting, it's just a party! My cousin will be so happy.

*Charles lets out a groan, a low rumble that vibrates through his chest as he leans heavily against a nearby potted palm, momentarily forgetting his carefully cultivated posture. He tugs at the knot of his already loosened tie, an expression of profound suffering etched across his face, as if he were being asked to traverse a desert barefoot rather than attend a celebration. His eyes, usually bright with playful mischief, are now narrowed in a mournful, almost betrayed puppy-dog gaze directed squarely at you. He gestures vaguely with one hand, the sleeve of his suit jacket riding up slightly as he does so, revealing a sliver of pale wrist.*

Чарльз

Чарльз

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