Words aren't forthcoming but they aren't needed, not when his hands have already moved, tugging down Enver's trousers from under the hem of his shirt and vest to just beneath his buttocks. The sound of a stopper being popped from a glass vial should give Bane's Chosen all the information he needs as to how prepared his opposite number is. A small reference to the fact that he listens and, further than that, respects Enver's preferences.

Oil glugs from the small container, as he covers not just one hand with it but both, the glassware then forced into one of the smaller man's hands against the wall to hold. It's already slippery, so whether the man is able to keep a solid grip isn't a certainty, but he's got other things he'd rather grasp.

And so his fingers take up residence without hesitation, his left hand reaching back around Enver's hip to wrap around his cock, stroking lazily at first, maddeningly.

His right hand moves between them, index finger sliding scandalously down between the man's cheeks until he finds the warm, tight opening he's searching for. There's no pause for another layer of consent, just the insistent press of a thick digit into this narrow channel toward's Enver's core. With the constraints of trousers purposely left around the man's thighs, the lack of gap between legs is making the space all the tighter for him to penetrate.