Marius' feels Rat's hardness against him; his eyes widen at the feeling, even as he knows his own arousal, evident in the sudden constriction of his pants, must press against the other man's body in turn. It makes his stomach clench as tightly as his chest, and makes the air flow ragged through his lungs. "Drunk as drunk on turpentine from your open kisses," he replies, his voice barely recognizable from desire.

He presses his hand firm against Rat's abdomen, drawn in by the warmth and the strength he finds in his skin; it licks at him like a flame, and he cannot help but slowly move his hand down farther, as he brings his other hand to brush against Rat's cheek. He can barely recall the rest of the poem.

"Your wet body wedged between my wet body and the strake of our boat that is made of flowers, ah," he finishes on a gasp as Rat bites down on the sensitive skin of his neck; a swan's neck that arches at such a sensation, as his gasp dissolves into a moan.