Unthank feels like a sculptor, and Johnny the most breathtakingly exquisite clay under his fingers. The boy seems almost custom-made for him; catching breaths, the little whines and snagging gasps, swamped between desire and terror. His own breath threatens to catch once-- just once-- when Johnny speaks.

No.

'Oh, good,' he murmurs. 'Not so cowardly, then. I'm pleased to hear it.' His lips curl up just enough to bare a sliver of teeth, and he bends down slightly as if to impart a secret. 'Between you and me, the other option's the better one, anyway.'

It's an invitation for Johnny to ask-- or better yet to imagine.