[He's never heard that from a friend. Never heard it from anything beyond his many marks, and it smelled so pungently of longing when it came that he can't help pausing just to hunt for that old, familiar whiff of expectation buried deep—

(Foolish. Foolish and overwhelming all in a single moment, when he finds it isn't there.)

He knows what he's saying, and it's far from wine or heady tannins making his tongue loose and his face warm when he cranes closer in tight quarters: grinning whilst his fingertips ghost near to Fenris' chin— playfully passing by.

Wanting nothing than to touch.]

Indulge you how?

I don't doubt the party would be improved by a pair of scantily dressed escorts tussling for victory if you're so restless, but I'll warn you, it's hardly discreet....