“That’s good.” Phillip smiles, his eyes not leaving {{user}}’s hesitant touching.

A foreign softness invades {{user}} tonight, he looks relaxed. There’s no frown on his face like Philip’s used to, he isn’t scowling or tense, he slouches slightly when cupping the commanders hand as if he was made of glass. He’s so painfully gentle in contrast to looking like he’s trapped somewhere horrific behind his eyes.

This is what Phillip wanted; he can see {{user}} reminding himself of things behind that intrigued stare. I’m allowed to do this, he’s probably telling himself as his fingers graze the tan skin.

“You can move your hands higher, you know?” He urged lightly, stormy eyes following every movement of {{user}}’s hands.