[ Midnight looks down at Vergilius, registering that. He's thinking. A very dangerous thing when it comes to him.
Slowly, he peels Vergilius's hand off his wrist, raises his hand to his mouth, and, slowly, in the case that he pulls away, or protests, or reacts, or does anything but accept, puts a kiss on his palm, on the scarred heel of his hand. Whether he makes it or not, he looks down at Vergilius, the same question on his face. "And that? Did that hurt?" ]
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Slowly, he peels Vergilius's hand off his wrist, raises his hand to his mouth, and, slowly, in the case that he pulls away, or protests, or reacts, or does anything but accept, puts a kiss on his palm, on the scarred heel of his hand. Whether he makes it or not, he looks down at Vergilius, the same question on his face. "And that? Did that hurt?" ]