[ Eridanus' mature features light with the infatuation of a boy many, many years younger, and the feeling the lights in Lucius' chest is a ticklish mix of humor and curiosity. It bubbles a laugh to his throat as Eridanus finds his words cut short, and does nothing to discourage the predatory gleam of his hooded eyes, Lucius watching Eridanus below him as if he were every bit as small as he feels. It's funny—Eridanus has shown him just how experienced he is, and yet, underneath Lucius, he's tongue-tied and helpless.

When those hands come up to cradle his face, Lucius allows them. He leans into the touch, and as Eridanus answers him, a gentle purr rumbles in his chest. ]

Eridanus, [ he says, and the name is a purr, too—of a different sort. He settles himself from his hunter's posture, letting his lithe shape slot into the firmness of Eridanus' body under him. ] If you can so much as push me in a duel, I'll do far more than praise you.

[ But, even in rest, the threat is never gone from Lucius' manner. He drags his tongue across his teeth as if savoring some unspoken pleasure, and his fingers trail along the flesh beneath his chin—vulnerable, in comparison, the tips of his claws memorizing every gap in the uneven opal as they graze along his skin.

The offer of a head is always a nice one, particularly with all the thoughts of his own Champion that come with it—but what actually attracts his attention the most is the suggestion of armor. His tufted ears had sat relaxed, but now they perk. ]

Without the gift Slaanesh has given me, it won't be the same. Why, I wonder — do you wish to see me in my full splendor as lord over his warhost?

[ The question is delivered with a particular sort of coyness usually reserved for attire more easily removed. ]