Chapter Text
Inigo traces the lines in Gerome's back, all sinew and strength. A trail from his shoulder blades down his spine leads Inigo to Gerome's backbone, and he jumps when Inigo reaches his destination. Gerome turns over in protestation. Inigo wants to finish exploring, but settles instead for lightly clasping Gerome's hand.
"I hope you find these arrangements comfortable," Gerome asks, voice muted in 2AM drowsiness.
Comfort, Inigo thinks, is as good a word as any.