Arden is already shaking his head, brilliant colour suffusing his cheeks as he feels Eris' breath against his throat, under his ear, brushing through his hair. "Away, demon! Get ... away ... from me!" He forces the words out past a tongue that does not wish to work, past lips that would rather not form speech. "I do /not/ know you!"<br/>That close, Arden smells faintly of cinnamon - something sweet, spicy and (so his friend often told him) entirely un-angel-like. Unwillingly aroused as he is, the scent is stronger ... and /quite/ un-angel-like ...