Erron's eyes brightened with excitement when Arthur clamped down on a hank of his hair and pulled, drifted across the thick cord of muscle in his arm, the tendons of his wrist and forearm strung taut at the corner of his eye. Arthur surely was handsome even as pale and lean as he'd been up in them mountains, but he'd thickened up some since having traveled down into the basin. The color had returned to his face, Erron noted upon closer inspection, his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose faintly pink with the threat of sunburn. Arthur looked mighty fine indeed.

He was dimly aware he must have looked like hell in comparison, bruised and battered and worn down by wanderlust and road dust as he was, but Arthur didn't seem to mind it none. He'd only just barely brushed the tips of his fingers against Arthur's neck in anticipation of a kiss when Arthur jerked back and squeezed the jar closer to his chest. "Now, what did I tell you?” He chuckled with a look eerily reminiscent of the cat who got the cream on his face. “My lips might be sweet, but they ain’t sweeter n’that."

Erron, being the wicked man that he was and always would be, leaned right on back down and peppered the soft of his belly with kisses until Arthur saw fit to raise his knee in an effort to prise him loose. He took the liberty of a mouthful of Arthur’s navel with him, teeth dragging gently across his skin before he was well and truly bereft. “Told you so,” Erron called after him as he stomped into the cabin to secure his prize. A moment of indignation later it occurred to him to inquire: “What y’mean ‘you horny bastard’ anyhow? Yer the one that asked!”