He licked at the soft patch at the underside of Avon's head, even able to tell the thickness and heartrate through that subtle, flicking contact. He looked up at him fighting the ropes with dark-lined gold eyes, taking in the sight of his body tensed and the tunic open around him.

How could he have not painted that form?

He sat up so he was kneeling between his legs, both ignoring him and taunting him more by undoing the tie to his outfit, and unbuttoning his shirt and vest at a very logical, typical human speed.