note: just a little drabble thing? shrugs...

//

"Were you aware that you have perfect pitch?" Ivan says, in Till's voice.

Till, in Ivan's body, shudders. It's disorienting. Even the act of shuddering feels wrong; the movement feels wider, bogged down with more muscle and mass than he's ever had in his entire life. Ivan's expressions on his own face are making him nauseous. "Stop that," Till snaps.

"Stop what?"

"Smiling like that. You look... you look like a baby criminal."

"It's your body," Ivan reminds him. "Can you hum a C3? I definitely can't from memory."

C3? Till tries it. Something about his innate sense is--shit. God. Everything sucks. His voice is so low, what the hell. Whatever sound comes out of his mouth isn't a C3. Ivan laughs.

"Shut up," Till hisses. "Stop laughing."

"I asked for a C3," Ivan says. "You gave me a B4."

"Okay, thank you, Mozart."

"I like your body," Ivan says. "It fits me quite well. And your chest--"

"Stop groping me," Till yells.

"Never," Ivan breathes. "I have to seize the day. Carpe diem. You can grope me, if you'd like. I'm sure we have differences in our body that you would like to explore."

Till, resolutely, does not think about Ivan's penis.

"My pants are yours to unzip as you please," Ivan says, magnanimously.

"I hate you," Till chokes out.