Part of him has noted that horn nudging against the line of his jaw, is gauging with professional curiosity how much damage it could do if it weren't so dull. That's automatic, though, absent. The lips on his throat are his focus, the man in front of him expressing his regard the only way he can.

The question gets a grunt. Not many subtle variations of mood can fit into such a sound, but far as it can, this one sounds a little impatient. Touch is the point of this, whatever and wherever Signless sees fit to give it, but one touch is much the same as another and Roland does not quite understand the question. His hands cover Signless' sides in a loose, careful grip and move down, the shape underneath the clothing a familiar one, and Roland begins to lean forward, presses his hands against Signless' hips, wanting to urge him to move until his back's nearly flush against the door behind.