“Kick you out of my bed, for a start.” Boris smirks at the man. His lips quirk up into a snarl as nails dig into him once more before he gets a hold of Yuriy’s wrists. “Yura.” Boris is sure he will have welts on his skin from the scratches. Not that he usually minds, but he doesn’t like to be teased this late at night by anyone.
“Would you really do that to me? Because I don’t think you would.” Even in this state he knows that tone, knows he might have pushed a little too far. Yuriy doesn’t try to pull away when both wrists are captured, he allows Boris this, conceding without saying.