Snake watched the thoughtful look play over Tiras’ face. He couldn’t help thinking about how beautiful the incubus was. Everyone probably thought that, though. All part and parcel of being an incubus, Snake imagined. It must get old, having people throw themselves at him, feel for him, try to impress him all the time.

Snake’s sure he’s not that much different. Except that Tiras made the first move. Tiras came to him this time. Which meant Tiras must genuinely like him, right? Or something about him. Didn’t that make him different?

“Lilies,” he repeated, trying to conjure the mental image of the snake around his arm with lilies in the negative space to fill it out. “Lilies it is.”