"Mmm, why would I want absolute compliance? Rarely any fun in that."

Ephram slid the Commodore's shirt from his shoulders. He approved of the sight; military service had done Nero well, physically. Ephram laid his mouth on an exposed collarbone, the warmth beneath his lips more intoxicating than the ale earlier. Shifting his upper body, he shrugged out of his loosened shirt. The hand not busy with teasing Nero's left nipple was headed south, to the task of dispensing with the Commodore's trousers. Heavy woolen fabric lightly scratched the back of his knuckles as he felt for the button fly.

"I could, however, return the favor for your...compliance, Nero."