[Seems straightforward enough. He probably has to move a bit to get his underwear down... but his train of thought is interrupted by Edmond's touch. Warmth blooms where his companion touches him and, when his neck is kissed, Edmond's hair tickles the side of Hans's face. He can't help breathing out a laugh as he runs his fingers through his scalp, his gaze fond.]
You touch me like I'm fine art. Well? What's your expert opinion, Monsieur Curator? Do I belong in the Louvre?
no subject
You touch me like I'm fine art. Well? What's your expert opinion, Monsieur Curator? Do I belong in the Louvre?