Smiling indulgently, Teatime removed the shirt, folding it over the back of a chair that had, apparently, displeased Nny and was being punished. Or was a work of art in progress. Either worked.
"Already trying to get me naked. What ever am I to do with you?"
"I'm sure you can come up with a few ideas," he snickered. "But I need to take your measurements, so I can be precise. I want your skin to be just perfect." He laid his hand on Teatime's belly in a manner that was perhaps not purely artistic. "You're too important to screw up."
"My skin is perfect," he corrected, an impish little grin on his face. He switched his hip, bumping gently against Nny. It was all cover, of course, to take attention away from the blush that had creeped up his cheeks. "You're just making it more so."
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Stumbling across the disheveled room, Nny raised a hand to stroke the scabbed-over wounds on Teatime's throat.
"Yes," he whispered, "Oh yes." He pulled something from his pocket; a tape measure. "This will be more accurate if you take your shirt off."
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"Already trying to get me naked. What ever am I to do with you?"
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