"And have the memory of that lovely experience muted? I think not," he replies airily and is very vehement about it. Her fingers linger over his birthmark and he lets out a quiet huff of amusement--it catches as she cleans the tenderest parts of him, but she is soft and careful and he feels no new pains as she works.

He still cannot quite believe she is doing this, that she is willingly indulging him--it is strange to be so off balanced by so simple a thing, but he truly is.

"Gors Velen?" he muses, just to participate in the conversation, as though so much of his attention were not focused on her hands or that she is chatting with him at all. He snorts at the Madame's name, for it is precisely the sort of humor he deals in, and hums as he makes a point to remember it.

"I shall have to take a trip to Gors Velen and chat with her, Gods' know what new fun pieces I might be able to acquire before that contest in Oxenfurt."

It is a tacit invitation, one given freely without thought that she might decline. He doesn't hesitate on it or think much of it after it is offered. Once the worst of the oil is cleared, he shifts and resettles in the water. The look he turns upon her is grateful.

"I did not ask, but should we do this again, is there anything exotic that you are fond of, sweetling?"