Today I have a snippet from The Sorcerer's Guardian for you. Loriot and Savarin were sent out on a mission by the princes and find themselves forced to take shelter at an inn one night when a bad storm rolls in...and of course there's only one room left with only one bed in it. This snippet is from the next morning.
When Loriot woke, he thought it was still night, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. The bedchamber was dark, lit only by the embers of the dying fire. His sleep-fogged mind was slow to identify the sound of rain pounding at the shutters. Then he remembered—the storm, the inn. Savarin.
He became aware of a weight across his chest, another over his legs, and turned his head. In the dim of the room, he could just see Savarin sleeping sprawled out on his stomach beside him in the rumpled bed, an arm thrown over Loriot’s chest, a leg over Loriot’s. Half of Savarin’s face was buried in the pillow, his fine hair mussed. The covers tangled around them, those that hadn’t slipped to the floor anyway. They’d spent most of the night awake and doing their best to consume each other, something entirely unexpected but quite pleasurable all the same.