In the past, he'd gotten used to the performances of smooth, composed, professional Companions, who knew their own assets very well and were fully comfortable in their own skin, the obvious result of extensive training and a natural inclination towards this kind of work, utterly self-assured and deliberately aware of the effect their appearances would have on the potential Patrons and audiences they were likely to garner wherever they went, even if they could adopt different mannerisms as a matter of course.

But there's something so unstudied and genuine - so different about Monty, the tremble of fear and anticipation in their limbs, the shy, uncertain way they glance between Justin and the floor as they slowly shed their clothing. Even that, too, was a significant departure from the attire - or rather, lack of attire - that Companions usually adopted for these kinds of initial meetings, dressing to make an impression, accentuating their best assets.

There was something so sweet about the way Monty had hid themselves instead, even though Justin was starting to get the full picture of what lay behind the somewhat cryptic updates provided by their caseworker, the way the estimations of what Monty's eventual contract would entail had fluctuated so widely as they went through the gamut of tests and assessments.

But even with that slight foreknowledge and anticipation, Justin could not have guessed at what would actually be revealed, once Monty had stripped down to their underwear.

"Oh," he whispers, sounding almost reverent, his fingers twisting and halting, pulling himself back from just reaching out and touching. "Just look at you," he murmurs, almost to himself, and he reaches out finally, to gently cup Monty's cheek and turn their face towards Justin, to meet his eyes, his expression almost reverent.

"May I touch you, Monty?" He asks, his thumb stroking over the arch of Monty's cheekbones.