He doesn't say anything for a long moment, so finally I look up at him. There's a strange expression in his eyes, like he's lost his way suddenly. Oh dear. If he doesn't know what to do I'm not sure I can manage.

He's asked me what I want, though, and so I have to think a minute about what that is. "I want to make you pies," I finally say, though that isn't what he meant at all.

To make up for it, though, I reach inside his shorts and begin to stroke him steadily. "You're so thin!" I can see all the muscles over his stomach. "Don't you ever eat?" I think I've found the right pressure and way to pull. "What's your favorite kind of pie?"

I curl into him and keep my hand working. He feels smooth and wonderfully strong, and when I decide I want to watch I slip his shorts down with my free hand. This is just very nice, if a little strange.