While Thomas's fingers were busy, tangled up in his hair, Krem trailed his slowly, over and over, up and down Thomas's arms. It was an encouragement, quiet and emboldened with each little twist and tug, each press of lips and slide of tongue.

He chuckled, softly, as Thomas pulled back. It was easy to ease back into the mattress and just admire Thomas, an open express on his face while Thomas rubbed at his scalp in needless apology. He slid one of his hands up and rubbed at Thomas's scalp as well, equally gentle, until he ended up cupping the back of his head.

It was all--there was no other word for it--delightful. He felt warm, and adored, and strangely at peace with himself, this strange body of his that Thomas didn't mind. Not because of what it was, or how it looked. Because it was his.

He rather liked that.