nysalogs | . all you have's your axe to grind . closed

[No sooner than he'd parked his ass in the tub, Takasugi's all over him like a koala in a tree. For all of five seconds, he's happy to oblige; while it's completely weird and 500% suspicious, Takasugi's being affectionate? Cute? Maybe the tea put him in an extra good mood, maybe the sweets--

Ah.]

So, you haven't forgotten.

[He might have been lowkey hoping he found some motivation in the bubblebath to tend to his own back. Then again, he's yet to introduce Takasugi to the various sponges and backscrubs they have to offer. Something he should have done five minutes (give or take) ago.]

Were I to wash any part of you, I would start with your hair. Otherwise the grime from your hair would sully your back all over again.

[As if to enunciate this point, he does envelope Takasugi with both arms, traces the width of his shoulders once or twice only to slide along his down in tandem. He isn't one for practical jokes -- horseplay, but desperate times...

All of that said, he's gonna go ahead and move to sit up, knock him over -- CAREFULLY. For all of his violent whims, he'd like not to give Takasugi a concussion over a competition to see who's going to wash whos back. The motion's only meant to topple him onto his back, pin him in place...also without drowning him. Just enough to soak him entirely, hair included.

He's the hulk in a twink's body.]

[He doesn't forget a damn thing.

Petty indiscretions from a decade ago replay clearly in his memory. He's the sort of guy who will count how many times a certain annoying quirk comes up, or keep score in a mundane competition only he's aware of.

What a treasure.

Solomon's talking, not washing his back; Takasugi growls. An almost inaudible sound, it's easier to notice in the disrupted bubbles between them, a few clumps flying through the air to settle on the ends of Solomon's curls.

His hair may be greasy, but at least it's not wavy.

The physical affection does nothing to alleviate his irritation, but it's enough to put any complaints on pause. Takasugi's shoulders stretch into the careful motions, but he barely gets time to consider truly relaxing into it before he's shoved onto his back.

Legs as awkwardly splayed as they were, he slips down without much resistance. His knees remain above the water, though mostly submerged in fizzling bubbles. Where his head goes under, a hole in the foam reveals his face.

A deep set scowl, too clear through the foggy air.

The bandage around his head slips, loosening enough for more clumps of hair to drift heavily in the water. It reveals more of his features, but nothing marred - he's not quite so disheveled.

Just too annoyed with being so easily toppled to keep wearing his coy smile. ~~He may have relaxed, just a little.~~

Raising one hand from the water, the crash of drops on its surface loud juxtaposed with the soft trickling moments before, he reaches to grab for Solomon. His hair, ideally, but he'll settle for a shoulder or bicep.

Pull him down and resurface, all in one.] Then start.

[An ariel view of this would have been much funnier -- he sort of has one, but the knees up thing is quite possibly the most important detail. There is something charming in seeing him entirely disheveled, something he'd be able to enjoy a bit more if he weren't in such close proximity, enough to invite immediate retribution.

It comes, and it isn't half as harsh as he'd been anticipating. A tub isn't exactly the best place for pool-style play, and some part of him is appreciative that Takasugi didn't opt to concuss him against the side of the tub.

Not that a concussion for him means much.....but it's the thought that counts.]

Oh, I already have.

[He's quickly moving to sit up at that, brush his eyes of suds and water, both equally feeling unpleasant. He'll turn his face into that wrist if it's lingering anywhere near his hair still, pressing a apologetic kiss to it (if not, he'll manually lift his hand to provide an opportunity for such a gross act).]

Your hair needed to be wet in order for me to begin.

[A paltry explanation for his OOC behavior. He'll move to collect that bandage next, gathering it between both hands and neatly winding it into itself between his palms. It's completely soaked, likely unusable in the future, but he'll act as though it can be salvaged until properly proven otherwise.

It finds an eventual place outside of the tub, ontop of the supa clean rug.]

Sit up and turn away from me.

[Said as he's probably trapping Takasugi's legs between himself and the tub...........]

[Water blocks the tone of Solomon's voice from Takasugi's ears, a hollow hum shrouding the room's acoustics. But the look on the man's face says enough - a smile that's easier than the polite facade the man had worn moments before.

He's amused.

Which means Takasugi isn't. Somehow, getting exactly what he'd wanted, he's pissed.

The kiss does nothing to abate his anger - Solomon's lips burn a taunt into him that makes his fingers curl. Hair tangled between digits, an impulse flares to yank out a tress or slam the man's head into the wall.

Barely controlled, he lets his hand drop back into the water when the bandages slip from his face. Underneath, the only maiming is a missing eye. Lid sunken, top mismatched with the bottom to reveal a sliver of curled pink flesh, it's not the most severe of scars.

But, irritated by the fragrant water, it's starkly red against the rest of his face.

With something else to balk against, Takasugi's anger dissipates - though it would easily coalesce again, too recently alight to truly be extinguished. He slides back into a position resembling his prior tangling of limbs, though this time his legs are left bent to the side.]

Nn. Wash it like this. [Demanding, he hasn't quite shaken the countenance of an offended brat.]

[That injury's something to regard, something to inquire about when it isn't blaring in his face. Upright, he's tempted to offer another kiss somewhere close to it, but the scene's cozy enough as is. Especially with that adamancy.]

You're being perverted.

[But he isn't met with aversion; maybe in appreciation of not having his hair yanked from his skull (etc) he'll go ahead and reach for the nearest shampoo bottle. Organic peppermint with tea tree oil. Rather than squeeze some into his palm, it's being directly applied to the top of his head like slime from Dragon Quest.

There's an excessive amount, obviously, and it doesn't hold form like that blue piece of shit. A hand shuffle his bangs out of the way, the side of it settling at his hairline like a visor to keep his eye (eyes?) from stinging all the more, should it bleed so far.]

[There's nothing enticing about pressing his shoulders against - not into - the other man's. Their frames don't compliment, broad shoulders too brusque for the smooth curves of Solomon's build.

Maybe, with fingers tangled in his hair, Takasugi will begin to feel something other than contempt for their connection. Lavish attention starts with an excess of shampoo; the scent's too strong. His nose wrinkles, and he keens his head away from Solomon's careful guarding to press it into the crook of Solomon's neck.

Now here's an opportunity to be perverted. One he pointedly passes over, breath hot and stick in the humidity of the room.

His hands drift through the water, finding purchase on the man's hips. Fingers brush the soaked elastic of black underwear, his light touch nothing more than a reminder of the stupidity of keeping them on.] Where are your thoughts wandering...?

[Calling the blonde perverted implicitly, to be sure. But also an honest question, seeking an answer he knows won't be satisfying.]

[There's a sigh to mark the adjustment; connotative of you crazy kids rather than any impatience. His jaw will act as a blockade of sorts while he continues to manipulate his sudsing hair. Even after that breath -- especially because of that warmth, he's being diligent in covering every little fine piece of hair.]

They're not.

[For good measure, since he'd been asked. He'll rake his fingers down the back of his head with purpose, disengaging at the base of his skull to scoop up some bath water and use it to rinse him off. This is going to be a process, but he's committed to it....]

It's you.

[Belatedly, but only slightly. He'll shift his weight from side to side, loosely acknowledging something he'd been ignoring at his sides. It's a good thing he is wearing his undies, Takasugi being ballsy and all.....]

I won't have you spoil the bath. We've barely begun.

[Being horny = ruining the bath fyi. Nevermind that their entire rendezvous had a blatant double-meaning from the jump. Sometimes, given certain situations, it's far more interesting to withstand. Foreplay with Takasugi automatically has him settling in the role of Reluctant Twink Meets Rough n Tough Yakuza Guy And Pretends He's Not Hot For The First Six Minutes Of A Seven Minute Porno.]

It may be easier to wash the shampoo from your hair if you were to lean back.

[Do the rockaway...]

[Fingers massaging his scalp would be relaxing, were he not still shaken with frustration. He makes an earnest attempt to enjoy the attention - the hard fought pampering he'd won - silent and calm as Solomon works through every clump of hair.

A slow exhale, interrupted by tongue against teeth.

Thinking about nothing beyond the process of bathing another? That's the worst possible answer, mundane and dull - it infuriates him disproportionately. He hadn't been looking for perversion; an appraisal of scent or body would have been satisfying enough.

But Solomon never does satisfy, does he?

He's not aroused, but he does want to drown the bastard. Some breath play-

Takasugi rocks, but not backwards. He presses his weight into Solomon, smearing suds all over his chest and chin in his endeavor to knock the man back. If successful, he'll loom over him, legs spread to either side of hips and arms anchored with his head between.

Not a strong argument for not being horny.

And not that attractive, considering the shampoo running down his face.

From here, he turns on the hot water. Maybe it hits Solomon in the face, maybe it doesn't. Either way, he sticks his head under it, letting the force of the faucet rid him of most of the lather.]

[He's met with some resistance here, only because a.) this is the polar opposite of what he'd asked, and second: it sure seems like Takasugi's going to knock him over which inspires natural defiance.

He is toppled, but not submerged. He'll prop himself onto an elbow, his other grips the base of his neck for leverage and scowl takes his features for only a moment because holy shit the faucet's running on hot and he can barely register how lewd Takasugi's being with his groin or how positively hilarious he looks with a head full of suds; like a dandelion...

All because he's being flecked with hot water as Takasugi rinses. Worse yet, some of the lather splattered onto his cheek and threatens to sting his eye.]

Shinsuke-!

[He's being dramatic, but holy shit things just got serious. He could, with little effort, kick Takasugi through the ceiling but the situation doesn't merit such histrionics. Plus, if he's going to wreck his bathroom he should have a better reason to do so.]

[All of this over a little water in the face. Solomon's exaggerated duress only strengthens the temptation to hold his face under the water. Maybe, with the man sputtering for breath and writhing under him, Takasugi's thoughts would grow as lewd as his host thinks they've become.

There are way too many layers to being a contradictory shitheel - acting against expectations has its breaking point.

A time when simply doing as he pleases is all he can manage, everything else be damned.

Takasugi's hand splats against Solomon's face, shoving him out of the water's trajectory. Not really mercy, given how much weight he bears down on him with in the process, but soon he's drawing back, hair plastered over his face.

He wipes it aside with his bicep, and leans back onto his haunches.] Haa?

[Takasugi spits out some water, before climbing off of the man entirely.] Want to wash it all?

[Make sure he doesn't smell bad. Or whatever-

Takasugi's not planning on making this an option.]

[There's a second utterance of his name in the way of having a hand -- wet and unpleasant, directing his face out of the trajectory, supposedly. He doesn't wike it. Fortunately, the Chinese water torture comes to and end and Solomon's scrambling back up, flailing with enough accuracy to turn the hot water off.]

What-?!

[A demand-i-question; it's not like the question's incomprehensible or something they hadn't already gone over to some extent, he's just offened over the fact that Takasugi would be hung up on such a thing even now, after very nearly drowning him. He hasn't caught his breath from it.]

I won't. [Let him overreact for the next ten minutes, so he can feel bad and go back on his word.] You aren't an invalid, clearly.

[For someone who wants 2 die..................catch him dramatically leaning out of the tub to tab at his face with the nearest towel.]

[Heat quickly dissipates in the rest of the bath, growing tepid - in equilibrium with the steam beginning to fill the bathroom. Solomon's left simmering alone in the thick atmosphere. It's draining to flail around with so much humidity.

~~As if Takasugi doesn't take every opportunity to drag Solomon around in Wyver.~~

Clearly incredulous, Solomon's ire is...

encouraging.

'Generously', Takasugi allows Solomon the time to lean aside and wipe himself clean. There's no feeling dry, the effort is futile - and that's why it's allowed.]

What time to we need to leave?

[Make him do it himself, and he'll ensure a late arrival.

With that, he sinks down into the bath, claiming all of the space Solomon abandoned to lean out of the tub. Head leaned against the wall, he disengages entirely. Relaxing, or something - anything but washing himself.]

Don't worry about that.

[With more bite then necessary, but he's cross, having been nearly drowned. He'll sit up as soon as he's able, regard him with dissipating anger...]

We'll leave once you've finished.

[Amends to a still-shitty response. He's testing his hair in the meantime, slightly (A LOT) bothered by the way it plasters to his head. Having it cling to his scalp in the shower is one thing...

Moreover: Takasugi's a bit like s giant dog in this case. Completely helpeless. He'd never harbored any faith in him washing himself, but it wouldn't have been so bad to be proven wrong. Once he's finished primping his hair to Wet n Wavy, he'll glare off to the side.]

I'll wash you if you sit properly.

[There it is, the concession we've all been waiting for.]

[The effect of only opening one eye to spare a glance to someone's fussing is somewhat dampened by only having one eye to open. Keening his head into the cool wall, Takasugi casts the man a narrow glance, watching fingers curl in wavy hair.

Delicate.

White bathroom, the bathtub filled with bubbles that crackle in the silence, surrounding a pale man and his flaxen hair. It's not a gentle scene, the irritation on Solomon's face disrupts the potential tranquility.

But, for once, Takasugi doesn't imagine the entire thing splattered in blood.

He's simply watching.

Appreciating the scene for the strange, mundane beauty it possesses.

His blood settles, heat dispelled along with the warmth of the water. Tepid...

Calm?] Take your time. [Said in a sigh, as he peels himself away from the wall and settles in the middle of the tub. He takes his own advice, moving languorously, and occupying no less space than he had when sprawled against the back of the basin.

Poised as Solomon so petulantly requested, Takasugi meets his eye with a salacious flick of tongue, meaningless but for plucking the strings of the man's patience.]

[Through all of his observing, Solomon's semi-unaware. He's just busy fixing himself, but to claim he wasn't mindful of that eye appreciating him -- the scene, would be a lie. He does wait to question it, and by the time his jaw slackens up to do so, Takasugi's speaking instead.

It's his turn to watch, admire. It's not even anything remarkable; Takasugi's being compliant in lieu of a new deal. It's still -- he's fascinating, charming with very little effort. It isn't often they spend time with one another in such a light -- existing without pretense. Mock dates that, like he adult version of how five year olds flirt. Though Takasugi very nearly drowned him three minutes ago and is fixed on treating him like a maidservant....

At least he's handsome. Must be all the grime that's washed off thus far.]

Ah. [There it is. A quick reminder of whom, exactly, he's dealing with. He needed that. He'd nearly become twitterpated there.] I can remove that muscle for you, if it's something you don't want anymore.

[He'll shift closer now, purposely press against him in reaching for the body wash. It does lie just behind Takasugi's form, but the entire process is willfully lewd.]

[He's been called handsome before - in tittering voices of women angling to be paid for their company. Compliments he'd enjoyed, if only out of a petty sense of superiority. Not all men in his unit had gained such favor among courtesans.

Solomon would make a good host in that manner. Pale, gentle features. A fruitless dedication to decorum, hollow gestures that aim to please.

And the lascivious associations he carries with bathing another. It could be nothing more than a chore, but Solomon has long since escalated the exchange. Intimate. A gesture of servitude.

Sensual.

Too bad Takasugi offers no compensation but his company.

His tongue doesn't recoil from the threat, deep red marring the scene for a moment longer before slipping slowly behind lips. All in all, a welcoming gesture - he'd enjoy feeling those sharp teeth drag against sensitive flesh.

Instead, he's levied with the man's weight. Forced to bear it, lest he sink out of comfort. Rather than glower, Takasugi arches his head into the man's chest. There should be no complaints of clean hair brushing against his skin, a nuzzle offered to encourage the physicality.

Of hands, roaming his body to clean it, and anything else.]

[The soap isn't smeared on a loofah, though plenty are hanging here and there. Assorted bath brushes lie out of reach -- maybe on purpose, most likely a coincidence. The body wash finds a palm and he's easing up, encouraging some weight against him as he smears some of that lather over his shoulders, down Takasugi's back. Prep Work. It comes ahead of a massage starting at his shoulders, kneading carefully, inching downward to work taught muscles between his thumbs in mostly circular motions. It's a pattern he won't stray far from, working the tissue with both hands right down to the waterline wherein he'll scoop some up, run it over his back and re-pave an upward path, rinsing as he goes. It's a willfully slow process -- ironic, considering how much he'd fought the concept.

A quick kiss finds the side of Takasugi's head, intentionally ruffling the spot with his nose. This is the part where he gets aroused for literally no reason. Bare minimum.]

How is it?

[Murmured, finally, while smoothing the spot between his shoulderblades. A second hand's fallen to a thigh -- outer, resting idle.]

[Waiting, shoulders hunched forward, Takasugi anticipates either a hurried cleanse - perhaps involving nails, to pry the supposed grime from him - or an indulgence. Solomon falls into the later, and the man under his hands sighs.

Stills.

Calmness settles over the water, the only ripples emanating from Solomon's thighs and what errant droplets fall back to the surface. Takasugi lets his body move in gentle sways, acquiescing to every nudge and grip. Muscles taut, and a back covered in scars, the massage is captivating.

The only improvement would be the taste of tobacco, smoke hanging heavy in the humid room.

He hasn't been made pliant, but his body is relaxed. When the kiss presses into his hair, Takasugi wants nothing more than to lean back into the man. Afflict Solomon with all of his weight, the heaviness he'd coaxed into his shoulders with his own hands.

He isn't one for restraint.

Back Takasugi sinks, head dragging down shoulder and chest until his shoulder bumps something - between hips - that stops him in his descent. He twists, disrupting the water suddenly enough to splash some over the side. Now on his stomach, he can run a finger up that unfortunate erection.]

You tell me.

Seems like you might have enjoyed it more.

[Focus dissipates; the goal was to clean him, but he falls into a rut of massaging him -- working his muscles with the butt of both palms, feeling out his scars like mini-maps. Like braille. He maintains an upright position, only slouching as Takasugi more...or less..inches his way out of that massage. Slips downward. He's frowning.]

Where are you going?

[A quiet demand -- questi-demand. Rhetorical, as he can't be going very far. His trajectory is pretty straight forward, at least.]

This isn't a pool, you know.

[Sick burn -- or whatever. He's about to shift his legs to accommodate whatever gymnastics he's trying to do, except...

Except that he's just being a shit disturber. There's a twitch, a bodily one in defiance of his intrusive fingers. His own are quick to grab at his wrists, try to peel him off. He'd slap those hands if the water wasn't acting as a buffer.]

Don't be vulgar.

[Even though he's the one sporting an erection, uh.]

It's a normal display, when were like this. Don't make it worse.

[(〃￣ω￣〃ゞ]

[Accepting arousal as an inevitable occurrence when they're... stripped down? Touching one another? Simply spending time together? is more vulgar than flushing and excusing oneself. Some find allure in innocence, in the taboo, but Takasugi's more attracted to Solomon's defiance.

The hands wrapped around his wrists meet subtle resistance; he twists his hand, skirting knuckles along bulge in a tentative test of the man's grip.] You took your time touching me...

[An accusation: That Solomon enjoyed the map of scars painted across Takasugi's back. Hands that had roamed his body still cling to him, rebuffing his redirection. Though, he'd made the approach with intent to get back on track.] Lean back.

[He'll leave Solomon's erection be, one hand anchoring on the man's thigh and the other spreading a wet trail up abdomen to press against sternum. Encouraging his host to recline, supine and bared - an indulgence waiting to be taken.

Should Solomon acquiesce, Takasugi's hands wander. Along sides, circling navel, brushing sensitive chest. All the way up to jawline, thumb brushing over chin in an aimless effort to tilt the man's head, before he abandons it to sink his attention lower. To hip, mouth joining his hands in kneading the flesh of waist and thigh.]

You were dirty.

[A fast rebuttal, glare settling on some tiny print on the nearest shampoo bottle. Pointed defiance all around, though additional contact makes his thighs twitch reactively, something made all the more noticeable when the water's disturbed by it. As much as he'd like to wrap this up, he's somehow found himself yielding to that command; a fast excuse about Takasugi being a complaint enough bath partner. What's more obvious, is his inability to fight the man and his own desires regarding him at the same time.

So he leans back, automatically rendering himself more vulnerable -- offering. Even were he nude, a fight would be nonexistent. He's holding a breath through that exploration, teeth nearly giving chase as fingers retreat from his chin, but his head ultimately tilts back against tile. It's natural that something like this would happen, that he'd find himself fighting the confines of his undies. Maybe that's why he'd taken the extra step to cling to whatever decency available, but there aren't any preemptive measures to take when dealing with Takasugi.

A leg rises, the bottom of his foot bracing against the tub's edge.]

We should be rinsing off.

[Far from renouncing him, a hand moves to trace a shoulder, kneading over lean muscle in appreciation -- something likely meant to be a form of rejection. A push thawed into exploratory touch, retracing healed skin.]

We'll prune.

[His gripes are mellowing out, at least.]

[Water-logged or not, Solomon's fingers press a enticing path into Takasugi's shoulder. He shrugs into it, offering nothing more than a glance - a glare - spared to the man's gripes. They're bullshit, and they both know it.

Still dripping, Takasugi's hair tickles pale skin, droplets of water running paths along the man's thighs as he moves along them, from hip to the water's edge. The leg framing his head isn't ignored - with more bared, there's more for him to sink his teeth into. Lips drag along sensitive underside until he clamps down.

A single ring of red marking the spot before he draws away, and jerks wet underwear down enough to reveal the arousal beneath. It's mostly underwater, only the tip rippling against the surface. An annoying position to give head from, but Takasugi's mouth hangs open anyway.

He brings his forearm across his face to smear his hair from his view, and takes Solomon's cock into his mouth. Sucking water and air in at once, he presses his tongue against the slit before pressing further down. His face submerges, a slow descent he doesn't dwell on before rising, water dripping from his chin.

Speeding up would just splash and make a mess, so he'll maintain this taunting pace.]

[While Solomon's resisted (or tried to) all things suggestive or otherwise explicit during their time in here, there's very little physical protest when Takasugi presses on; the bite to his thigh earns a twitch of disapproval -- surprise? A combination of both, though it's something he's earned for all those meals most probably. A grunt marks that exposure, feigned displeasure abundant.]

You're taking this too f--

[The combination of his mouth and the augmented sensation of a beejer with the bathwater special has him shutting up in a hurry -- audibly sucking in a breath and holding it, shifting his weight in place. An elbow has him braced against the side of the tub, his opposite hand finds a place atop Takasugi's head. The hair there's gripped, but there isn't a lot of weight to speak for. He's not trying to drown him, and Takasugi's doing a fine job of getting him riled up.]

Ha. [An audible release of breath. A leg shifts, hooking over his shoulder. Fingers rake down the back of his head, slicking his hair back and kneading the base of his skull.] You don't listen.

[While arching his back, trying to somehow offer more of himself in this awkward ass tub...]

[That the ring of swollen pink will have vanished by the time Takasugi draws away occurred to him the moment he'd felt the resistance of muscle under his teeth. Even if he'd torn skin, there wouldn't be a damn thing to show for it within moments.

So he'll leave his mark in another way.

A sweet memory of defiance, the pink that's faded from Solomon's thighs returning to his cheeks or his cock when it crosses his mind.

Maybe that's too ambitious for such a simple carnal act, but with pale hands winding in his hair and a leg levied upon his shoulder, Takasugi can feel every ripple of muscle his tongue spreads through that slender body.

He offers those reactions an answer - a groan, deep voice and a grind of teeth along the shaft of the cock in his mouth. Twisting his jaw brings Solomon's arousal deeper, his face submerging to take the entire thing. Purely for the image of it.

When he slides back up, his eye flicks upwards, fixed on Solomon's lips.

A loud slurp, breath and water swallowed all at once, emblazons the lewdness of his position. Water flecks the back of Takasugi's throat and he suppresses a cough, continuing a more shallow bob of his head. His tongue makes up for the lack of depth, swirling in consistent, languorous circles around the tip of the other man's cock.

He never listens - everything he ever offers is on his own terms, this act of servitude (possessiveness. dominance.) is no exception.]

[It isn't even like Takasugi's doing too much, he doesn't need to do much in this particular circumstance and it feels like overkill; his leg ceaselessly twitches, slipping between his upper-back and nape with a similar unending chorus of those pathetic mewling sounds. More vocal than usual, though that doesn't say much on principle of him always sounding off when things are going well...

But he'll sometimes fight it. Pointlessly.

The bathroom's echoey and Solomon's caved quickly. His fingers twist at damp locks, weighing Takasugi down as if he's not doing a well enough job all on his own. Of course he is, of course Solomon's just a greedy piece of shit. Their eyes lock for all of a moment (or at least he thinks they do) and he'll draw his fuller lip into his mouth, muting himself as color spreads from cheek to cheek.

Not that any of that fake modest shit lasts. His head tilts back and he'll release that breath, his lip with a groan, hips twisting slightly to accommodate his tongue, adjusting to suit him...something like that.

T-11 seconds till he ejaculates without warning...10 9 8 7 6 5 4...]

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shikomizue - 2018-12-28 07:21 (UTC) - Expand

. all you have's your axe to grind . closed

remember when i said he'd take off takasugi's bandages

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like a dandelion... cute...

SPLAT.

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