Erik can hear, no doubt, the way Pyotr's heartbeat quickens as he enters that room, eyeing those instruments of debauchery. The praise stains his cheeks with pink, and he fidgets with his coat and the strap of his bag.

"I said I would," he quietly points out, staring at the floor now. Turned shy by desire, he mumbles, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. What you did to me before, what you might do to me now...I'd say it haunts me, but --" He grins at the floor, sharp and lively, eagerness unrestrained. "That would imply a negative that manifestly does not exist."