[ Grandiose is the rotten display which unfolds in front of his eyes; his breathing shudders as he watches it unfold. Gogol throws his head back and the light gasping quickly shifts to a crescendoing laughter as the first few stitches are completed. It's raucous in the otherwise quiet room where pale hands make short work of the damaged flesh that doesn't even require help healing. Yet he'd be a sore liar if he denied enjoying this special attention and care.

But really... why touch him? For what purpose will those hands become tainted with a sinners blood today? Something they both know is how it's superfluous. If it's not reciprocation—which it certainly must not be—then it must be manipulation. It's a web being masterfully crafted by those clever hands and Nikolai thinks he shall become entangled willingly. It drives his more animalistic instincts to want to wrap both of his own hands around the defenceless column of throat right in front of him. Instead, he bites down on the tip of his own thumb to stifle his disturbed giggling. ]

You simply must tell me! In return I will not deny you this chance to offer me salvation. Oh, but I simply can't help it. I must take a guess first.

[ As the dark haired man leans close to make efficient work of the task Gogol gently flattens a covetous palm between his shoulder blades. Absentmindedly, as Nikolai continues to direct his every word to the ceiling, he traces the hint of vertebrae that can be felt through the thin fabric. ]

Even without a well-defined path you have already begun to strategize your next move! ...Dos, did I guess it right?