*blinks heavily, trying to dispel the blur that swims into view when you take him in hand* I don't think—ah!—I could hurt you now. Even if someday I need to. You know me. (Somehow neither of us has suffered for it.)
*would sound almost accusing, were his mouth not searching for yours, his fingers finding an insistent, regular rhythm (you are so warm, so ready and how ready can you be?)* I've done nothing to you. *softly, softly (it is astonishing, this truth)* And I cannot hate you.