[It's strange, to actually want Stolas to perceive him. To enjoy the clear desire in his stare, even if it makes something squirm somewhere in the pit of his stomach. To feel like the want there is actually believably more than just, as he'd once put it, for the novelty of having a rugged peasant rawdog him into his mattress.]

[He watches the bird's talons trail over his skin, curving his spine to bow away from letting the touch be more than feather-light in an odd display of shyness. It doesn't linger, since he's immediately snorting a laugh and playfully snapping his teeth at Stolas' beak.] I meant in the sense that I'm not gonna immediately pop a fucking boner if you walk out of your room naked, I have some restraint, and you are actually covered in feathers. It's not like naked is an eyeful of cloaca unless from very specific angles.