He leans forward, brushes his lips against the top of Monty's head - almost absent-mindedly, without thought - and then he rests his large hands over Monty's abdomen, measuring the contrast between their trim waist, the miracle of their anatomy, his palms gliding warm over Monty's skin.

"Lay back on the bed for me, Monty," he suggests/commands, his eyes steady and intent. "I want to see and feel exactly what I've managed to get my hands on."