Raphael sat on the living room chair, the cup of tea Magnus had practically forced on him balanced on his knee, while Magnus himself was slouched on the sofa, laughing. "You," he wheezed in between hysterical fits of giggles, "are going to propose? To Simon?" Raphael pursed his lips, praying for strength from anyone.

“Simon,” Raphael gasps out, and Simon’s dark eyes track his every movement, flicking down to his fingers and dragging back up Raphael’s body slowly, leaving a trail of liquid fire in their wake, “You have to help me, Simon, please – “ “Anything.” Simon says quickly, his voice cracking, and Raphael can feel Simon’s arousal, the scent thick as it curls possessively around Raphael, “Anything you need.”