( it feels inexplicably nice to be pressed up against the cold of the tile. he can feel the direct contrast of dice’s warm body and the steam from the shower warming the hair. it’s an onslaught of his senses and he loves every second of it —

and even more when he hears that suggestion.

if the tips of his ears weren’t already red, they are now. he shakily laughs and skims his hands up into dice’s unruly hair, green eyes pointedly meeting his boyfriend’s. )

I’ll allow it. Though I take no responsibility for the varying degrees of suffering you’ll endure if Ramuda or that host hear you call me that. ( but by god does he??? really like that name??! )

I tend to think I’ll stick with my messiah, if you don’t mind.