He arched an eyebrow at the suggestion, letting his mind wander in that direction. Although to be fair, his mind's eye neglected to put any clothing whatsoever on Amadeus. Now that was a pleasing visual. But then he had to bring up that little bastard Malk and Ariel was growling deeply, snarling without even meaning to. Alright, the fucker got on his nerves more than he wanted to admit.
His hands gripped Amadeus's wrists tightly, maybe too tightly, and he pushed his lover back towards the bed until the mattress hit the backs of his legs. "I'd really rather not have that fucker mentioned ever. I know he's ridiculous and he doesn't stand a chance but he makes me irrationally angry." It was possessiveness, he knew. Amadeus was his, belonged to him and him alone. They didn't need to have that conversation because they both knew but that fucking Malk made him want to rip open a painted throat and watch Tristian bleed out.