"I..." He trails off, uncertainty stopping up his mouth, the magnitude of the desire filling him seeming too disrespectful to let out. But something within him is demanding it, his fingers utterly slack and immobile, refusing to obey the rational part of his mind.

"Have... you ever posed as a life drawing model, for other painters?" he forces out, his head ducked low, his voice a mere whisper, staring at the page.