He doesn’t need to understand it to know— in a sense— what’s being said. Reverence is nothing new, not even earnest reverence, as he’s played courtesan and charmer many a night, cornering beautiful fools of all sorts like a siren luring sailors into drowning.

But being wanted back by a creature like this...

The way he sighs in wake of the attention is all honesty, all genuine: he presses himself into it— every kiss, every lingering touch— shuddering somewhere in between with unsubtle anticipation, searching always for more. He won't paw at Fenris for it, refuses to anchor him by a grip that would only settle too heavily over old scars. But his own body he arches, his neck he tilts, offering the sweet scent of lilac and leather oil where it still clings to his skin.

And then catches something of his partner by snaring slender fingers in the span of white hair. Not harsh, not cruel— only needy.