Devin feels a tug somewhere around his navel, the urge to close that bare gap between them when the Fool does not quite kiss him; he clamps down on a faint, plaintive whine, at odds with the sly delight of being teased. A year ago, months ago even, he would have withdrawn from how easily his lover can wrap Devin around his finger.

Now, it is a source of mingled desire and elation; the Fool does not abuse or take from Devin in his vulnerability, but instead gives. The soft touch at the nape of his neck sends a shiver of thrill down his spine and Devin breathes in raggedly before he has the wherewithal to compose himself. In anyone else's hands, this would be terrifying. (It is here, too, but-- he's safe. He's home.)

"Certainly," he agrees, trying for marginally more coherent. That invitation is clear, even if the words could be taken ambiguously. Impishly, he adds to their list of features to search for: "Walls with better soundproofing, while we're at it."

Devin's gaze drops to the Fool's lips briefly, then back to his eyes, but for all that he is terribly, terribly tempted - Devin doesn't lean that little ways further, resists the impulse to tug the Fool into his lap. He can tease in return.