He knows it worked almost instantly, and he warms all over at the thought. It wasn't a game or a play, just then; he meant every single word, and when Spock slides his fingers through his hair, he closes his eyes with a deep, slow sigh, head tipping back a little, licking his lips and his exposed Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows dry.

When his eyes open again, the pupils are stretched wider, but he doesn't so much as whine when Spock pulls away. He sucks in a shaky breath and slowly nods at the order, then does as told without even complaining about how much he hates folding his clothes.

He gets to his feet instead, and slowly undoes a few buttons before tugging off the shirt, fabric dragging up his torso and skin exposed inch by tempting inch. If he's taking his time it's only because Spock told him to be careful, and he's just as careful as he makes his way over to the table, stretching the shirt out across the surface and folding it as neatly as he can manage, then walking back to where Spock is.

"Can I take my shoes off too, sir?"