Silas knelt in front of Salvar and hooked his thumbs around the waistband of the scrub pants. He pulled them upward in one smooth motion and adjusted the fit against Salvar's waist with a brief, clinical efficiency, checking afterward the way he did with Xavier after dressing him.
Salvar waited diligently, like a five year old being dressed by a parent, and afterward, satisfied with the result, gave a few small jumps to make sure the pants were secure. They stayed in place.
"Turn around," Silas said, already taking the scrub into his hand to put it on himself.
Salvar squinted at him, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. "Are you shy?"
Silas, visibly annoyed, grabbed Salvar by the face, his palm pressing against Salvar's nose and cheeks before redirecting him toward the door. "Guard the door," he said flatly, and disappeared behind the shelves to change.
