Shadow Mountain Wire

a laugh tumbled out of lestan, and suddenly; suddenly he was pressing back. "and you think i am meant for you?" honeyblue eyes did not harden; they searched only for the ineffable truth: that this was a game.
no black-eyed man with a god's tongue would ever want lestan. this truth had suited and satisfied him long enough to have sparked acceptance.
the mayfair as an object of desire simply set his mental engine to sputtering with pure indignation.
and so it was with a silken new vulnerability that he glanced at wake again in the same seeking way. 
"h-how do you — how will you polish me?" its risque sound rang against lestan's own ears and set his face to burning, but almost in defiance he lifted his chin, wanting to know.