There's no hesitation in Pope's tone. A good, familiar mask. Carver breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. They've got to war together. Pope's fucked him twice now. The second time made him come. The second time didn't feel like a wound. Maybe -

Maybe it can be like that.

Carver moves stiffly, going to Pope's side. "Fortitudo salutis," he murmurs. "Sir."

The respect is automatic.

"It'll-" he swallows. "It'll be easier if you lie down."