[As the weight of Lucius' body relaxes against his own, Eridanus finds himself easing back down onto the couch. From an outside perspective, the two could easily look as if they were simply two lovers, lazing in the afternoon sun. By appearance alone, the nature and implications of their conversation would be lost and yet, it's exactly the connection that has brought two separate souls together. In such close proximity the gentle, if not romantic entangling of their forms, is enough to worry Eridanus that his thundering heartbeat would be noticed. Heat blooms in his pallid cheeks and flushes down the length of his neck and ears, his bashfulness encouraged by coca wine.

Lucius' words nag curious thoughts to his head, and before he can stifle them, his lips part.] What is better than your praise? [He asks quietly, as excitement buzzes under his skin.

His claws travel down, over the curve of Lucius' shoulders, before dipping between them. He drags exploring hands over those sides, once knotted with the muscles of a soldier, yet now as lean as a prowling cat's. As Lucius continues on about the armor, his words drum up a memory that wasn't his, of armor he had never seen before. It's true, it isn't the same, and no manner of enchantments could replicate it—even if Eridanus knew the proper necromantic runes.]

And is it so awful to think that you would look lovely, draped in finery befitting of your profession? Golden armor to match golden eyes and hair. Plate dripping with blood commands stronger emotion than a shirt and jeans, don't you agree? [Eridanus chuckles at the thought, and his claws drag lazily up Lucius' spine as he does.]