"Yeah, well, taking what I wanted ain't worked out so well for me in the past, has it?"

He lifts his head, slightly, feeling the warm blood following the line of Desire's finger.

"Another chance," he says, slow and thoughtful. It isn't an answer, exactly.

"Guess you already know what I want." As he looks, Desire's eyes flash hazel, bright even in this dim room. Past the scent of peach and spices, he can smell sweat and grass and horses, and Ennis, and the want burns even brighter, lighting him from the inside--a fire to push away the cold.

He feels fine. He feels fine. And he sure as hell ain't gonna think to hard on how he should be feeling (or how he shouldn't by rights be feeling anything at all) for a long while, or at least not till he's gotten a few stiff drinks into him.

For now, he pushes it aside and leans into Desire.