[ A far cry from the bone-shearing fangs of a troll, the teeth that clamp down are the blunt shape of a man's (or elf's, as the case may be). Still, there's no shortage of determination in the press of their edges against his flesh; Lucius' breath hitches with sudden anticipation, and when he feels the telltale well of blood beneath that grinding pressure, he groans.

The twitch of his thumb within the wet prison of Eridanus' mouth is nearly reflex—and yet, there can be no doubt that its course is calculated. His thumb curls downward, pressing into the hard grip of those jaws rather than pull against them, and as it does so, the gold tip of his claw presses into the base of Eridanus' tongue. Hardly another twitch, and it'll pierce right through—as though Lucius intends to wrench it whole from the mouth that seats it. ]

Allow me to make something clear to you, [ he hisses, though it's hard to say whether the tight smile that accompanies it is one of carnal desire or bloodlust. ] You have nothing. No home, no wealth, no magic, and no father for you to cower behind. Either you become my plaything—or I rip this useless thing from your mouth and turn you outside, ripe for a monster without my bountiful generosity to into a meal.

Even an idiot could tell I am the better deal. [ The claw digs in, drawing blood of its own as he asks, ] Are you too stupid to even play a court's fool?