[ The statement has his gaze dropping to Claude's forearm, where his own tattoo rests. His lips quirk faintly as he reaches out to trace it. ] I guess we did.

[ He wants to ask about it, but he doesn't. Doesn't want to risk sending the mood somewhere they can't come back from. So he focuses on Claude's face once more instead, enjoying the touches, the brush of familiar calloused fingertips along his skin. When he parts his legs, Sylvain slides one upwards, bending his knee and propping it up against Claude's side. He's going to need to move here in a minute anyway, so he's not worried about getting in the way. Besides, he can hook his foot around behind Claude this way, since he's too far away to really reach for him otherwise.

Still, he's chuckling at the man's words as he watches him spill the oil into his palm,licking his lips in anticipation, gaze dark and impatient. ]

I did tell you that. It's not my fault you didn't believe me. [ Sylvain is all too aware what he looks like. Had long since honed it into a weapon in its own way. One he's wielded just as often and as long as his spear. Longer, maybe. Which should really prompt a terrible comment on his partner, but he'll let that pass for now. ] I'd say you're about to get a better one, but as nice as my... assets are, I happen to think this is usually a better angle. Not that I mind either way.