[ The hand against his neck would normally give him cause to jump. It's a place he doesn't exactly want touched by anyone... but the hand doesn't feel threatening, it's soft, a warm weight. It's a killing hand sometimes, he knows this, but they've got hands that do other things too. They don't just kill, they touch and they tease now and then, and sometimes they just hold and that's alright too because it all creates an overwhelming escalation of feeling. The words linger on his lips, but most of the time, especially now, he's afraid to say them.
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They seem odd and old and rusted. ]