I've heard someone say that you're only as old as you feel. I suppose the fact is that I feel very, very old now. [ Konstantin laughs, though quietly, and the sound begins sobering as Vasiliy rolls his sleeve up a bit to expose his arm to him.
Gently, Konstantin reaches to grasp it in one hand while the other moves the washcloth along it, barely applying pressure to begin with. ]
You've certainly taken care of me countless times. It's my turn to do the same for you.
[ It's somehow so easy to be earnest with him. It isn't too typical to say things like this to someone — and especially not another man — but... it's easy with Vasiliy. In ways. In others... well. He isn't sure how to think about that, so he swallows the thought back and continues his task, looking down as he smooths the cloth along his skin, and then down to his fingers. Konstantin gently cleans them — familiar hands, slender and yet strong, and he's felt them before, but never like this.
They're nice hands. Pretty, in the way he might have thought he'd associate with a woman's hands, but... not that. Clearly a man's hands, a man's fingers, just...pretty.
After a moment, he slowly lets go, and moves to stand again so he can move back to the sink. ] Water to rinse, [ he says, and on the surface he thinks he seems calm enough, but something in him is buzzing and warm and he isn't sure whether he wants to grasp that sensation more tightly or chase it away. ]
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Gently, Konstantin reaches to grasp it in one hand while the other moves the washcloth along it, barely applying pressure to begin with. ]
You've certainly taken care of me countless times. It's my turn to do the same for you.
[ It's somehow so easy to be earnest with him. It isn't too typical to say things like this to someone — and especially not another man — but... it's easy with Vasiliy. In ways. In others... well. He isn't sure how to think about that, so he swallows the thought back and continues his task, looking down as he smooths the cloth along his skin, and then down to his fingers. Konstantin gently cleans them — familiar hands, slender and yet strong, and he's felt them before, but never like this.
They're nice hands. Pretty, in the way he might have thought he'd associate with a woman's hands, but... not that. Clearly a man's hands, a man's fingers, just...pretty.
After a moment, he slowly lets go, and moves to stand again so he can move back to the sink. ] Water to rinse, [ he says, and on the surface he thinks he seems calm enough, but something in him is buzzing and warm and he isn't sure whether he wants to grasp that sensation more tightly or chase it away. ]