"It actually gets harder," he murmurs, which is both true and entirely intentional phrasing, if the slow smirk that follows the words is anything to go by. But his eyes flutter closed for a moment, as he tilts his cheek into Fives' touch, and his tone turns strange, both distant and gentle. "But you get better at it. Just like you get stronger under your gear."

He doesn't want to talk, anymore. He turns his head, closes his teeth on the second segment of Fives' thumb in a motion so small and quick it would be impossible to avoid. He closes his lips half a heartbeat after, strokes his tongue against he sensitive pad of his fingertip, tastes clean skin and hints of the celebratory canapés from earlier in the evening. Slowly, never breaking Fives' gaze, he drags his mouth off, teeth scraping deliberately the entire way, like his mouth is reluctant to let go.