The signal becomes clear when the robe slips off the man's frame as though water, rolling off his body to collect at his feet in a puddle. Eyes stay flicked up, though there's an urge tugging at the very fibres of his muscles, daring them forward until fingers meet bruised flesh. He swallows audibly, a strange response from a man whose very existence was made to maim and murder. Bruises are the very least of what he's left lovers with in previous times, and never the only thing.

It eventually occurs to him that this is quite the show of trust. The derobing at such a vulnerable moment. He's asked the man to show him his physical weakness and Enver is giving him that willingly. There hasn't been any strong-arming or pressure to induce a specific reaction, just a request and the return in simple terms that aren't simple at all.

In the end he releases the wrist his fingers are encircling, both hands reaching up and settling incredibly gently against the skin at his slender hips. He's careful not to go over where the bruises already are, but even as he looks he can see the bruises offset from where his fingers land in a mirrored pattern. This time he's holding Enver from the front, but earlier he had gripped him from behind and paid no mind to any damage he might be doing. Next time he'll remember.

"Does they bother you?" The bruises, he means. Whether that's in a physically aching sense or that it is his experience of a hard fuck either way, he's curious what impact this has on the other man and, more than that, his preferences.