He sighs with quiet, earnest satisfaction, his pale skin flushed, both nipples peaking almost visibly under Stiva's gaze. His hands drape over Stiva's shoulders limply, but there is a substantial weight to them, his long slender fingers curled to stroke gently against the bare nape of Stiva's neck, tracing the outlines of a familiar, hidden brand, out of sight beneath his layered collars.

"Such an unusually sweet tongue you have today, little bird," he murmurs. "May I have a kiss, please?" His voice is wheedling, coyly pleading, asking for what he knows he can very easily and rightfully demand. It was almost always his way and preference, particularly when alone with the tengu.