Jedao grins and shifts so that instead of sitting next to Eiffel and half-twisted to kiss him, Jedao straddles Eiffel's lap, knees to either side, so that suddenly it's Jedao looking down at him by a few inches, instead of the reverse.

"You like that, baby?" Jedao asks softly, pulling Eiffel's hair tie free so he can get a better grip, get both hands into those glorious curls. "Your hair's so pretty. I want to pull your hair all the time."

It's not thick, but a trace of Jedao One's Espatan Twang - which sounds remarkably similar to Texas Twang, somehow - seeps into his voice, when he's worked up like this.