This was better. Now that he was shirtless he felt, paradoxically, less exposed than he had when Ty was undressing him. Teasing and trading jokes left him feeling less emotionally exposed than listening to poetry, particularly poetry Ty had composed in the past twenty minutes after telling Ford his eyes were full of poems.

No. A finger tugging the waistband of his pants, a smirk against his lips, a jibe about proofreading. He could handle that.

"Can't imagine what," he said with a chuckle. He slid one hand inside of Ty's robe to touch his chest and kissed his neck. "Should we go upstairs?"

---