[ Like the heated breath of a lover against his throat, the question washes excitement down Lucius' spine. Beneath the cloth of his shirt—for there would be no honor in meeting an unarmored opponent in anything more—the fur decorating his skin stands on end; the cage of his fangs parts where a rictus grin had pulled it taut, and his tongue lolls free to lick the air with an eager hunger.

He recalls what it had been like—but that had only been seen secondhand, and now, the thought of finding himself overwhelmed by his lover's bestial strength tightens his muscles with shuddering desire. It's a question answered first with laughter, his paired blades twirling restless patterns through the air at his sides. ]

I was going to say I could teach you, the way you have so graciously taught me. [ His grin pulls the muscles of his face taut once more, but even so, the heated gaze that meets Eridanus' swims with his lust still. It's a fair joke, that a marine's style better suits Eridanus in kind, but...

Lucius' weight shifts, falling onto his back foot, and the falchion in his off-hand raises in the air between them. ]

Here. Maybe this would look better in your hand.

[ It isn't a heavy blade, made for graceful slicing movement above all, but it is what had suited Lucius for the last ten millennia or so. ]