[Is this not a sort of politics? The politics of sensuality, a game to win with design and daring. Nikolai has never considered himself a prude, but he will admit that his time here has certainly turned him looser. With his thoughts, his tongue, his body. As he finishes his croissant, the swipe of his tongue across his lip is deliberate, contemplative.]

It's difficult not to.

[And that's not just a line. The question invites his imagination to form the scene: Cardan stretched over Matt, both of them slender and pale and lovely. His pulse quickens, his fingers tightening around the mug. Notably, his hands are naked of his once customary gloves, displaying his inky scars.]

Although, I confess I have an easier time imagining him in a variety of...scenarios. Our little meeting on your settee was so very long ago, as I'm sure you're aware.