He can’t even feel any satisfaction at the way Serpico’s composure breaks, that reaction only serving to fuel Lon’qu’s own very confusing desires.

And he is, quite frankly, much too aroused to even be embarrassed by them anymore—

“We only need to do it once, right?” That’s all this curse is—a temporary humiliation. It has to be. Lon’qu can’t see any practical reason to prolong anyone’s suffering in this manner—especially when such severe obstacles to power are more easily dealt with at the end of the blade.

But Lon’qu has a very limited understanding of how these subtle political games work. All he knows is what he feels at the moment—a lingering, uncontrollable desire, an itch. An urge to open himself up, make himself vulnerable.

It’s a horrible feeling. He hasn’t opened up to anyone in years. The last time had happened before…well. He recalls that there had been brigands that day, too.

With a click of his tongue, he pulls his arm away, to glance away and begin disrobing himself.

“So take the rest off, if you don’t want me ruining them.”

Because he’s certainly not paying for the damages, their costs notwithstanding.