Holland arches a brow again and just sighs, “Such stubbornness,” but he steals a deeper kiss just then; a biting, hungry, needful thing laced with affection that only Kell will understand.

But when he breaks away from it with a little hum of approval, he licks Kells bottom lip and and slips a rolled handkerchief into his mouth, tying it behind his head.

“Be a good boy,” he says, kissing his forehead and then pushes him back onto the cot, enjoying the way he sprawls against it. For a moment he has the mind to imagine Kell like this, but on soft sheets and a bed that could fit at least three. Tied up and needy in a way that had nothing to do with escape.

He moves to stand and finally rids himself of his own pants, but the belt he holds onto; looping it one way and then another before his gaze steadies on Kells face, “Hold your hands out.”