Though his blush did increase under Lessard's stare, River did not move. Asides that his chest seemed to raise and fall a bit faster then it had been.<br/>When the glass was raised, he took it in his left hand, elegantly by the stem, not clumsy like a peasant to get his fingerprints all over the glass.<br/><br/>Lips parted at the investigating touch of his fingers, a very light tremble ran through his body. The lifted arm did not fall back when Lessard released it. Who knew what he still wished to do with it? River let it where he had taken it without a word.<br/><br/>The comments on his scars didn't evoke a word of him either. It didn't even evoke more thought than a growing need in him.<br/>Hope grew Lessard would add his own scars, leave his autograph as it were.<br/>Now and then a memory did surface, but he paid them no attention. Some scars had history, others were just as fleet in his memory as on his body ; he did take good care of himself after all, most scars were thin and a calm silver on his pale flesh.<br/>The touch so near to his nipples wasn't all too impressive to the boy. There had been a wish, once, of him, to decorate them, but he never found the time nor the contact to follow for this.<br/><br/>When Lessard kneeled, River lowered his gaze, long lashes shadowing his cheeks. He had caught and understood the glance in the man's eyes when he sought his out.<br/>The remark about the thighs being sensitive and that lashing there would have been painful broadened his smile. There was a very good reason he had so many there. He had paid quite the sum for them..<br/><br/>The brief, light touch to his tip finally did evoke ; a quiet hiss, a sharper shiver, eyes widening very slightly, hardly noticeable.<br/><br/>Swallowing, River turned, lowering the arm that had remained risen for this long to halfway, offering Lessard view on his back and the back of his legs, both covered with any type of scarring - even something that seemed to be claw-marks - one could ever think of.