Jean-Claude is hard to doubt right now, even for a professional like Jon. A terrier part of Jon's mind keeps chasing itself in tighter and tighter circles: Jean-Claude is an expert at dissembling, Jean-Claude could have arranged this all, knowing Jon would not be able to resist seeing the ardeur first hand. But then, so what? If Jean-Claude wanted to trap Jon by dazzling him with an endless parade supernatural phenomenon, that was just fine. That was just lovely, in fact. Something in Jon starts to uncoil, knowing that even the worse case scenario is far preferable to the life had had consigned himself to before coming to St. Louis.

Jon feels a flash of guilt, but it is comforting to see that the world has marked even someone as untouchable as Jean-Claude. He's not quite bold enough to reach out and touch one of those marks, or the cool expanse of Jean-Claude's chest, so the distraction and direction is welcome. Jon shivers in pleasure, wanting to rub his cheek all along that welcome chill. His eyes, when they meet Jean-Claude's, are lidded.

"You, um, you can have my blood - a-as much as you want, actually. I'll regenerate." There is a spike of tension at letting that information go; Jon plows ahead. "The uh, mind control—manipulation—we can save." For next time, but Jon seems to realize that that's presumptuous on both their part's, and bites it off there.