Damon wasn't good at small talk. He hated it actually. He believed in sarcasm though, and that had apparently gotten him into trouble. He sighed and removed his hands from his pockets in a shrug. The guy looked good, but made an effort not to look at the defined torso, and rather appealing package.
"Absolutely nothing is wrong. I thought you understood sarcasm. You use it enough. I thought you understood it." He tipped his head, but didn't remove his eyes. "You did ask if I couldn't get enough? It takes a bit more to make me that crazy. That was the point." No sarcasm, Damon, nothing defensive. "If you want me craving you like a fucking bad habit, that takes a lot more. I didn't know your ego bruised as easily as mine does."
"Now I can get a good look at those tattoos. Is that a butterfly or a moth?" Those fronds over his hips were like a place to put his hands. Blue eyes raked over the man in front of him.