“Strange enough for a first time,” he agrees, laughing under his breath. His nose brushes against the trail of hair leading from his navel and down his pelvis, just a moment in time that should be so significant but somehow is. He gets to be intimate with this man, this man that he’s fallen in love with; he gets to kiss his stomach and feel the brush of hair against his cheek and chin. If he had the words he’d write poetry about how alive the heat of his skin against his lips makes him feel.

He circles his fingers again, then just finger, feeling the resistance but breaching it gently. He’s care, oh-so-careful, as though holding a very expensive, very precious instrument.