His lips moved from their rather neutral state into a full, beaming smile. “I would never get sick of looking at you! I could have the scars updated every moon or so to stay current. Not all artists are perverts. Isn’t Master Alphinaud quite the artist?”

He deftly righted his clothes. “Perhaps I should learn to draw, then. I would quite like a painting of you. And it sounds like you would like me to do you.”

Aymeric stood at the precipice of his doorway, looking like he had a lot to decide between. Drag Aza onto his mattress for a fuck, or suffer chastity in the baths ‘til afterwards. “I think we know who the real pervert is.”