The feel of Ayel's fingers was different. They weren't harder, weren't as calloused as Sharra's should have been. It dragged a thread of air down his shoulder, down his back.

Green danced across Ayel's cheeks, down the span of his neck. His lips moved, chased the beat of it across tendon, and pressed hard against the rise of the collarbone before him. All corners and heat, nothing but beauty in it.