[ The end of a fang nicks him to make the smallest, shallowest cut, and Logan's nostrils flare at the same time his scent starts to roll sweeter in pheromones of want. He brings his palms down Victor's back, lower to tuck into where the towel's just barely hanging around his waist and push blunt nails into his skin. ]

You fucking tore them. [ Not that Logan's complaining, not with his touch all demanding as he hooks a leg over his husband's hip. ] An' Jubes looked at me like it was my fault I could never wear the thing again.

Dickhead. [ But in the same breath, he adds: ] Bite me already.