The shelf bears the weight of my sword. That is all it was designed to do. Hush with your complaining.

[He says it with a particular sort of smirk, reserved solely for Lorenz, amused and a little smug all at once. His back arches, utterly pleased by those careful fingers. He's long since grown used to Lorenz's touch, but that doesn't mean he's immune to it. Far from it: a few seconds in and he can't resist a shiver, even as he ducks down to nip lightly at Lorenz's throat. It's been a hot second since he left a mark, what a terrible misstep.]

Hmmm . . . will you be flattered if I tell you you'd look as good in blue paint as purple, or is that too much of a stretch?