The muscles in Samandriel's back tensed, shoulders pulling back before the rest of him did. "If you say so," he said softly. He reached up to smooth his hair back into place just as the kettle whistled to interrupt them.
Adorable. Right. Of course. He stepped further away to let Mitchell deal with the tea. "Um," he said awkwardly, toeing the ground for something to do that wasn't twisting the cuffs of his shirt and looking somewhere near Mitchell's ankles. "At some point, perhaps later or or whenever, would you be willing to." Samandriel cleared his throat, loathe to ask for help or to feel like he was worth it. "And if you have any I suppose would you be willing to..." It seemed a lot to ask and definitely not his place to do so. A slave should take what their master offers them and not ask for more. His gaze dropped even further. "Lotion or something...on my back. I'd do it myself, but I don't think I can." A brief pause and he added, fighting his own shame, "please."