If Alecto is surprised by this, he doesn't show it. Instead, he lets his own hands fall limp at his sides. The shirt slides off of him slowly, down the slope of one pale shoulder and then then next as if it were water flowing down his skin.

He doesn't rush the other man or direct him, content to be his canvas in this way too. "Where do you want me?" he says, voice low and patient, realizing only a moment too late that his words might have more than just one implication.