Ah, there we go. [Matt seems much more satisfied like this, able to sponge at the old grime along Shiro's back, untangle the mats at the base of his tail, even hose off the still-human part of him, broad shoulders and the back of his neck and everything. Any restraint he might've had seems gone, in this warmer, larger space, because he moves his hands fearlessly, strokes through the damp hair at the nape of Shiro's neck, the thick muscles of his forelegs, everywhere in between.
He's quiet as he does it, too, the motions becoming a sort of ritual. Matt wonders, vaguely, how long it had been since someone touched Shiro without ulterior motives, without agenda. So he lingers, he's thorough. It's the better part of an hour before he steps around in front of Shiro, reaches to set wet, soap-smelling hands on either side of his face.]
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He's quiet as he does it, too, the motions becoming a sort of ritual. Matt wonders, vaguely, how long it had been since someone touched Shiro without ulterior motives, without agenda. So he lingers, he's thorough. It's the better part of an hour before he steps around in front of Shiro, reaches to set wet, soap-smelling hands on either side of his face.]
Feel better?