Because Gortash is Gortash he is making a mental inventory of every written missive and map he sees and where they are meant to be. A task he can see to later. Much later. The ink is all dry, and nothing appears to be missing or damaged, so that is all that matters about that.

But he can imagine the Dark Urge smugly stretching out over his work as he's attending to business matters, languid as a cat while still demanding attention. Just a breath away from a kiss all while the man insists on finishing the last of his notes before any indulgence will be allowed.

Never liked that mental image, a different flavor from what was also likely: that once the half-drow decided he tired of waiting, they would both wind up on that tabletop anyhow.

And he would do that if he let him, damn the mess. The thought is dizzying on its own, and Gortash sets the candelabra on the mantle to give himself a little more balance.

"Yes, I believe I did. A moment or two worth the price of admission alone."