Chuckling, Jean-Claude shifts them subtly into a position comfortable enough to stay in for some time, and follows Jon's earlier silent cue. His hands come up to tug out the hair tie on his braid, setting it aside, and settling in to slowly and luxuriously unwind the hair. His arms bracket Jon on either side, firm and immovable, his skin a little unpleasantly cool to the touch but the spray of water providing contrast, almost too hot.

"A failure of imagination, perhaps," he teases. "Or a failure of those around you? You have been subject to so much neglect, mon égaré. A man cannot be satisfied with words alone."

He presses a chaste kiss to his head to punctuate the words.