Ellis has a way of grabbing him this way, in a singular movement that catches him again just off his guard. So captured, hawk by the ankles or cat by the scruff, he is naturally still. Tolerance via familiarity saves them from coiling tension. There is some prickling at his chops while he watches the splinter of green in his palm muted under thumb, subtle discomfort in an invisible pin at his ears.

It’s very early in the morning for this.

“You’re welcome.”

Thot bounces like a note along the creases of Ellis’ sleeve, little claws clumsy in their clamber for purchase up to the shoulder.