[ He ends up gently digging his thumbs into the hollows of his low back, on either side of the vertebra, almost absently as he considers his response. He hadn't spent much time learning specifically about hips (that had seemed too salacious) but now he thinks he's going to have to amend that.

In a low murmur, ] Absolutely sure. [ Gregor considers pointing out that he's not someone who cares about physical attractiveness much to start with, that it doesn't matter to him, but instead goes right for it, says: ] That poem I wrote you, that wasn't just pretty words. [ Kiss every luminescent knuckle...] And this isn't just for your benefit, believe me.

[ He has to pause in his work to give into the urge to lean up and kiss the back of his reddened neck, scrapes his teeth along his nape, just once, in a claiming sort of motion, before Gregor reluctantly drags himself back to what he was doing. ]