[flattery. this kind had never moved janus the way that good grades and hunter accolades had, because they're a brittle and boring little soul inside the freckles and jawline, but there's an artistry to it, to the way that rafa does it, his voice a molasses-smooth purr housed in the slender barrel of his chest, his hair in his eyes. and it seems sincere, besides. precautions sit in the back of janus' mind like a sword waiting in its sheathe.

they're enjoying themself. running their fingers down the nape of rafa's back, then onto the fabric of his shirt. feeling the subtle hills of vertebrates through the material, how fine his muscles, nearly as smooth as the razortoothed kisses going up janus' neck. when rafa comes up for their mouth again, they kiss him back.] I always liked salty things, [they admit.] With a little bite to them. You're both to me. [another kiss lapped off his mouth, and then they nose his cheek, placing another on the crook of his jaw.] Salted caramel, that kind of thing.

I suppose-- [and then their nose is poking up companionably alongside his. eyelashes lifting so they can look at rafa half-mast, a warm smile to go with the nuzzle.] None of it sounds good to you now. I should compare you to silk and finer things. Do you like silk?