Wolfwood's still left oversensitive, every pore and node in his body tingles like it's on fire, like he's been seared to the marrow. The pointed tongue swipe and look in those hazels earn a pointed look of his own which then flickers to his own jelly-feeling legs.

"Nope, looks like it ain't. But if you could I'm sure you would."

He doesn't move, though. Not quite yet. No, the priest is lazy. Playing hard to get. Whatever you want to call it. He stretches languidly, that long line of his body twisting with well-worked muscle, and lays astride the table, knees open slightly.

"After all the trouble you've caused, I might need a minute."