[Matt makes an indignant sound at the mention of bows, ducking his head to nuzzle into Shiro's dark, damp hair. He smells like soap, like sweat and musk and himself, the way he did once upon a time, back at the Garrison. It's that familiarity that gets to Matt, that makes his knees shiver a little.
That and the fact that Shiro's nuzzling against his chest, which is softer and more tender, almost sore underneath the chilled fabric of his shirt. He can't help imagining having the cloth out of the way, having Shiro's cheek, his lips, his mouth against the budding swell of his chest. The question has him hesitating for all of a couple seconds before nodding, fingers stroking up and down the back of Shiro's neck.]
I'm cold. [It's soft, and a blatant lie -- he's burning under the soaked cloth, he feels almost too hot where Shiro's hands rest, where his cheek touches, everywhere that's almost skin-on-skin.] Help me warm up?
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That and the fact that Shiro's nuzzling against his chest, which is softer and more tender, almost sore underneath the chilled fabric of his shirt. He can't help imagining having the cloth out of the way, having Shiro's cheek, his lips, his mouth against the budding swell of his chest. The question has him hesitating for all of a couple seconds before nodding, fingers stroking up and down the back of Shiro's neck.]
I'm cold. [It's soft, and a blatant lie -- he's burning under the soaked cloth, he feels almost too hot where Shiro's hands rest, where his cheek touches, everywhere that's almost skin-on-skin.] Help me warm up?