It really should be moonlight filtering through his hair, not daylight. His hair should shine silver, not diluted cream. The daylight is shameless and leaves no room for euphemism; it's not lovemaking, it's sex, and sex is altogether too coarse a word.
Conrart watches Günter and Günter watches Conrart.
Günter is undressing slowly, out of uncertainty, not to titillate. There's a blush on his cheeks. It's adorable but it's there for all the wrong reasons. If Günter is this troubled then he shouldn't be here. No one is forcing him to stay. Conrart just wants him to.
Conrart sighs, stretches out on the bed, shuts his eyes. He licks his fingers and deliberately, strokes his way down his naked abdomen. The bed creaks and the mattress moves as Günter sits down.
Conrart opens his eyes and they stay there, just watching each other, waiting for the other to move first.