It was with years of practiced self control Ferran didn't whimper when Nikolai's fingers brushed through his hair then against the sensitive skin of his neck. His head drooped to the floor, resting his forehead against his crossed forearms. It's beautiful, he responded to the images drifting through his mind. It always fascinated him to see himself through Nikolai's eyes.
When the other man moved, Ferran turned his head, opening his eyes to watch him momentarily. He grinned mischievously and pushed himself to a kneeling position. He sat back on his feet as he unbuttoned his shirt. "You're going to get paint on my collar," he stated with a smirk, eyes alight, as he carefully removed the shirt and tossed it to the side. He settled back to his former position on his stomach, arms folded. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled again pleased with his enabling.