Should I not be the one asking you that, Archmage? [ Lucius grins with a vicious affection, watching the way dark color trickles down his chin. The hand toying with his hair moves, claws chasing the line of his jaw until he can feel the warm wine against the pads of his fingers, and he scoops those thin drops onto his fingertips. A second later, his tongue flicks out to wipe them clean. ] I can barely remember the last time I felt so smitten with someone.

[ Certainly, the impulse he felt toward those who challenged him on the battlefield was close—but those were brief flames, all-consuming for as long as they lasted but quickly satisfied. No Sharrowkyn or Sanahkt to escape his blade in centuries and more. This lingering desire to consume—Lucius has reveled in it, and Eridanus has done nothing to quench his obsession even now.

Lucius wants to move closer, and of course, they're already near enough that as much means climbing into his lap. It isn't the half-hooked posture Eridanus had felt from him the last time they had met; instead, Lucius crawls over him like a predator, hovering just without touching as if he might flee or strike without the slightest warning as to which. ]

And what would you do, just to hear more?