Eichel laughs as he lets Heine lie down on the bed however he likes. "I'll be gentle," he promises.

At first Heine lowers himself onto his back. Ginger movements keep the weight of the eggs from being too badly jostled, but as he rests his head the sight of the ceiling above him is very, very familiar, with all its little cracks and stains in the old wood. Uncomfortable, he turns onto his side instead. It puts less pressure on his spine, too. As he does his robe falls away and his utterly soaked entrance, still gaping slightly after the huge clutch of eggs forced through it, is on display for Eichel. A wave of embarrassment surges through him, knowing that he's dripping the slick onto the bed and the end of one egg may be visible, but the shame is muted by simple arousal. It's fine, something tells him. This was meant to be. Even so, the odd feeling of deja vu persists.

Eichel hisses softly through his teeth before he reaches out to touch. Heine is looking around the room, picking out bits of furniture that he is certain he recognizes somehow. Eichel's hand on his leg is too familiar, as well; he turns his head to give him a suspicious look.

"When did I come here before?" He can't recall ever visiting during his school years. Why would he?