Declan was no Judge Frollo, but Aoba got a case of the shivers for reasons completely of his own. Fireworks went off in the nerves of his hair as Declan nuzzled into it, sharp and intense and yet not exactly pain. It jolted through his body in ways he wasn’t quite sure what to do with, Desire mentally rolling over with something like a low groan, as if considering changing his mind about not expressing certain opinions.

The feel of Declan’s breath ruffling the strands wasn’t much better, but Aoba tried not to dwell on it. What the hell, really? To go from hating it when other people touched his hair because of it frequently hurting because people were rough or inconsiderate, to being—turned on because it was Declan??

But it felt better to be close again, the combined warmth of their bodies shared under the shelter of the blankets. Words, Aoba. Focus on the words.

“…I don’t think you would,” he answered, laying an arm along Declan’s again. Even with the mutterings of his other mind, the contact was pleasant. Aoba was aware of the Guardian’s bare chest and arms against him, but he was only self-conscious because of his own split thoughts, not because of any outward feelings of pressure. Declan was decidedly unthreatening for such a large man.

“You’re too gentle for that…and I want you to hold me.”