Soren's mouth left Finn's only far enough to speak against his lips.
"Do you want to find out just how enough you are?"
Finn's throat worked. He nodded, small and certain.
Soren's eyes darkened.
"Take off your fucking clothes."
Finn's breath hitched. "H-here?"
"Now."
Rowan was already moving. He stepped in behind Finn, hands finding the hem of Finn's shirt, peeling it upward while Soren watched. Fabric caught, then freed. Rowan's fingers worked the laces of Finn's trousers next—patient, deliberate—until they loosened and slid down with Finn's underclothes. Boots. Everything. Until Finn stood bare in the circle of the hurricane lamp, skin prickling in the cool air of the lodge, rain still hammering the roof.
Rowan's palms smoothed down Finn's back, over the curve of his ass, and then Rowan sank to his knees behind him.
