He wasn't sure how people did this sort of thing smoothly, because it was all he could do keep from popping more buttons off in his eagerness. He'd known he'd liked men; he known since he'd gotten to Hogwarts and seen his classmates without clothes. He'd known since he'd sat with his friends, getting annoyed that they wouldn't stop talking about girls when it was all he could do not to stare at some of the boys. He'd known it, and yet—never had the opportunity arose to act on it. It might have been Arthur, his cousin who he'd been occasionally paired with during family functions since childhood, but it was easy to set all of that aside when his hands left goosebumps wherever he touched and when his teeth were nipping at his tongue in a way that sent a surge through his veins.

(If anything, it was easier to justify in the moment than it would be later on. Arthur wouldn't rat him out, Arthur wouldn't say anything. He couldn't, because they were family at the end of the day, and those sort of rumors stuck.)

His clothes came off quicker than Arthur's did, another piece of evidence that spoke to Arthur's experience, but he wasn't complaining. He was only slightly aware of how much more muscular Arthur was than himself as his hands slid from the top of his shoulders down to his belt, and he knew a normal man would have been a little self-conscious, a little insecure, but Valerian wasn't—he was delighted. He tugged at the fabric at the shirt, struggling to get it over his shoulders without being able to see. Finally he pulled away, just long enough to get Arthur's shirt off, before leaning back in to press an open-mouthed kiss to Arthur's throat. (Was he allowed to do that? He hoped so.)

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