[ oh, matt is alluring. he likes the pretty boys who are willing to play back, who are willing to imagine and create and dream about whatever wild things they might want to do. it reminds him of those fresh-faced travelers at open ports he'd meet in taverns, all warm with beer and music. this time it's the bath warming them, and the pretty collar round matt's throat.

so the man leans in against his ear, the faintest whisper, and quentin smiles, not moving immediately, as though thinking about the picture he's painting. slowly, however, he begins to turn in the water, to face matt. he lets his hand fall to his bare chest, over the lotus, then slide up slowly, slick with bathing pool water, to cradle his throat, fingers molding over it gingerly, a whisper of a touch. ]

My hand fits perfectly.

[ he lets it linger there for a moment, fingertips bending and squeezing just so before it pulls away, resting on the edge of the pool. ]

You'd look good in my lap. In anyone's lap, but I'd rather it be mine. Selfishly, of course. But if you've already got plans, then by all means - I would hate to ruin them. I might ask to watch, though - or join. Party's fun and all but I think it could be a little more exciting.