Don't move. It had been clear in her fond, firm grip and definite placement of his hand. He did try to be still, and would have managed, except she--she tickled his feet, and he'd never been able to stand that, gasping, kicked reflexively around a shudder.

But he didn't move his hand.

He knew an order, even an unspoken one, and held it exactly as she'd placed it, feeling the bones in his wrist, his arm, warm and loosen with the touch. He was careful not to grip tight, not to insist, their fingers curling gently together for as long as she liked.

He rose slowly, arched his new spine in a liquid curve and pressed his lips almost reverently to hers.