There are no gloves in the livery, which is appropriate to the occasion but strikes Jedao as slightly brazen all the same; he shivers at the touch of lips on his bare hands.

"I asked," Jedao says, with warm careful enunciation, "And I was answered." I want to be where you want me.

He squeezes Horseriver's hands for a moment, in proper black full gloves, to suit the dream's fancy of the uniform, a perverse inequality that feels more quelling than intriguingly transgressive. "Take these off, please. I mind that more bruises that won't even last - or will they?" He asks at the sudden idea, not quite repressing the note of hopeful interest that invades his voice.