Here I am. [it's a bit wondering, said on a laugh as harry presses in, kisses at the side of koby's neck, followed by a soft sigh. there's a chain there, around his throat, a silvery collection of links, resting over a still-healing bite mark that he seems to wear as a badge of honor, where his neck and shoulder meet. still, he tilts his head invitingly, humming softly at the odd sensation of mixed numbness and sensitivity where those skilled anatomist's hands massage at his chest.] And here you are. Sort of impossible all around, isn't it?

[the word "details" gets a snort, an undignified thing, even as koby's reaching to push his glasses up into his hair, eyes brighter, bemused, without the thick, round lenses covering them.] I'd expect nothing lest from an anatomist, of course. I don't mind what -- words you use, really. Nothing's foolish to me.

[then, hands slipping back to the buttons of harry's shirt:] I tend to use "cock" only when I'm wearing one, though. I'm not, today, because -- well, it's sparkly and purple. It tends to be a little distracting, especially on first sight. [koby plucks the buttons free, one by one, taking his time as with the waistcoat.] And you might have. There are medicines people can take, ways they can...replace what their bodies can't make on their own. I've read books about it, it's all very fascinating.