Roboute can't answer with his mouth full, but there is a flicker of blue as he glances up at Terry, eyes crinkling in a smile.

Closing his eyes, he lets himself sink into focusing on Terry's reactions, his breathing and the pulse of blood as he traces a thick vein with his tongue. The sounds he makes, the smell and taste of him. The tug and pull of their shared desire. He could lose himself in this if he let himself, he thinks, just like a set of data to be analyzed or the care of a masterwork weapon. But not now.

He presses close, his patrician nose pressing up against Terry's bellybutton, his hands grasping his hips gently but as solid as iron. He redoubles his efforts, with teasing now forgotten.