( He almost seems disappointed as the blade's sheathed, but he sighs, quirking a lopsided smirk and looking back up at his companion's face. It's a nice face. He really doesn't mind looking, particularly when the man's not sulking over compulsory tattoos on their bodies.

Searing magic, he hates it though. )

Furrier, so I've heard. No one's seen any around in centuries. Now, as you've shown me yours, love, would it please you to see mine?

( His hand falls to stroke over the shot pommel of his sword, fingers sliding down the handle to curl suggestively around the hilt. Flirtation with his sword? Or to his sword, in this case; the hilt alone shows obvious differences to the blade just so recently bared. )