No, Myr can't quite pass that towel-wrapping off as a breezy meaningless thing he was going to do anyway. Anyone else easily could; Simon would be paying far less attention, wouldn't be outright trying to make him flush with needy warmth like that, but he can't bring himself to hold back now, and he's deeply grateful--unfair though he knows it is--that Myr can't see him in turn, that he won't need to worry about concealing anything.

"I don't know precisely what you like," he points out, the warmth of it still shot through with a hint of shyness. Nobody's ever all that reserved about complimenting his body, Myr included, but he's always had less reason for confidence about the face, and for all he truly knows, everything about it could be exactly the opposite of what Myr prefers, even if it is a decent enough face by general standards.

He swallows, as Myr raises his hands; watches them as if studying them, almost wary of what they might do. Perhaps he's spoken too soon about having no need to worry about his own reaction to any of this. He didn't anticipate being close enough for touch, let alone inviting it, but Maker help him, he wants--

"I'm never opposed," he says softly. "I couldn't be."