Krem kissed the apology away, sighing both at how Thomas's fingers filled him, moving gently, and then were shortly slid back out. He took Thomas's hand, lacing their fingers together, lifting his hand so he could kiss the back of his palm, his jut of his wrist, the bend of his thumb.

He lifted his hips, gently, and wrapped an ankle gently around the back of Thomas's thigh. It drew him in, lined them up. There was a moment of pressure, a deliberation of their bodies, before everything lined up, fit together.

Krem inhaled and then sighed out noisily, squeezing the hand he held as he felt Thomas slide into him.