[With an obedience nurtured over a time that feels akin to centuries rather than mere months, Eridanus leans into every touch of Lucius' claws as if they were life-giving. The way they curl at the base of his skull, the way a thumb traces over the unfeeling ridge of sparkling opal that has consumed his jaw, the way his hair curls about overlarge fingers—all of it shudders through Eridanus with a craving for more. As if the touch, chaste yet heavy with the weight of their relationship, was never enough. The thumb that delicately traces his maw ventures upward, over the scar that slices down his cheek in a thick vein of opal, has the lashes of his lower eye beside it quiver.

As Lucius retreats, Eridanus' head tilts, chasing after that touch as it draws away with him to retrieve the Lucid Dream. His eyes follow the bulwark form of his consort, following the curve of musculature left bare by a body that cannot fit normal clothing. He watches the perfectly trained movements of Lucius, his gaze both indulgent and admiring as the man returns before him. Once more he leans into the touch to his chin—a beast to its master.]

What do you mean, my Eternal? [Realization slowly brightens in his gaze,] wait... do you mean to say—?

[Eridanus resists the urge to stand and pull that scarified face to eye level and peer for the freshest of scars. He doubts he'd be able to find it beneath the lacework of millennia, and yet, just the thought of his death tearing a new hole into Lucius' visage has his heart thundering against his breast. Instead, his hands come up to hold the fat wrist of his beloved as excitement colors his pallid visage.]

I am honored, [his gaze drops away, towards the saber held in a hand far too large for it. He shudders a breath,] that my death would be worthy of cutting your face brings me a joy like no other.