Horseriver has rarely been anything that could called hesitant, he certainly isn't now, not with Jedao, feeling his hair under his hands and a warm point of bright connection everywhere they touch - but there's an unfamiliarity that he registers with a certain dark amusement. He's almost forgotten what it felt like to be in his body at all, let alone what he'd enjoyed (he knows intimately how different that can be from body to body). He could almost be learning this for the first time but he's not and there's an edge to that but one that's mostly buried in this moment. He trusts Jedao and he hasn't forgotten preferring that.

Still, he's glad his body is quicker at remembering than he is at finding the right words. Not that he doesn't have other words.

"Ah, by the separate hells , Jedao -" On the occasions he uses Jedao's name, it curves slightly in his accent, the affection wrapped in it is generally not broadcast quite so openly, not with Horseriver's dark, sardonic moods but they're in the light now and there's a physicality to the feelings as much as the physicality is a feeling, a literal warmth settling with his words.

"In the old way of things, as the year turned all would come to eat and laugh and dance in a hall built just for the witnessing of a king. In this place connected to the heart of the world - I would fuck you there, where the night is long but the fire always outlasts the darkness. All swear themselves and are given the same in return and then I would go to you for matters both different and yet not. A start of the year." His hands stay in Jedao's hair, not pulling but making sure to maintain the point of contact. There's none of his usual measure to his words, but even with the extra clarity of this place connecting words to immediate feelings is difficult. That he even tries is...different.

"Or perhaps you'd kneel for me, since you request it so politely." If there's teasing to that there's no mockery.