[Dezel goes willingly-- more than willingly, really-- as they roll over together. He decides he likes this, too, even though it's nice to look up into Sorey's face instead of down. There's something satisfying about curling around each other like this, and he takes it a step further by tangling their legs somewhat.]

Do I? I never really noticed... [His voice is soft, amused, a little floaty. He's distracted by the touches even as he returns them in kind. Dezel draws his ungloved hands through Sorey's hair, gradually slipping downward to learn every dip and vein in Sorey's neck and shoulder.] Too wrapped up in others. It's one of the senses I still have.

[He gently works at the knots in Sorey's shoulderblades, though he's not sure if it's actual tension or just Sorey being built. Sometimes it's hard to tell. Sorey's the type to stifle his anxiety so it comes out physically in other ways. Some are too subtle for Dezel to pick up, like if there are circles under the eyes, but he always notices someone's posture.]

... Your scent is sometimes a little different, but most parts are the same. Tanned leather. Old feathers. Something else-- some kind of polish, I think it's for your weapons. And this other thing I couldn't figure out for centuries. A little tangy, something like grass, and with a note of vanilla--

[He breathes in deeply. He can't smell it too much now, but he remembers it clear as day.]

It's the glue used to bind books. Old books. That's... what that was.