"No, that's not - that is, I appreciate it," Elijah says, sounding closer to flustered than he has in their entire acquaintance. "I just wouldn't know how to identify what you're describing, in myself."

"I hate poetry," Elijah murmurs, his chin still hooked over Rhys' shoulder so he doesn't have to look him in the eye. "I know that I would struggle to be...without you. At this point. And I expected to begrudge this new arrangement much more than I actually have, however that might be interpreted."

"Being open," he admits quietly. "It's...ironic, I suppose. I'm somewhat aware of Quentin's arrangement and it seemed rational, but practicing something similar hasn't been...easy."

It's interesting that Rhys uses the term with me, he thinks vaguely, when Elijah interprets it more as for me. It's not as if he's really considered using his own rights as a non-exclusive partner.

"...you're welcome."

Elijah blinks at him.

"That would be purely an intellectual exercise, don't you think?"

"I've come to the conclusion that Darlene would probably not regret it if we hooked up while...slightly impaired," Elijah says, clinically. "Beyond that, I know I'm not an attractive person."

This is, curiously, a long-held belief that has never once butted up against his ego. He's a genius. He was one of the world's richest men. He never once needed to compound that with being physically appealing. While he had decided he was going to be a talented lover so that the sex workers he engaged wouldn't have reason to go telling tales, that was for the sake of reputational management, nothing more.

Here, without any of the resources that once drew people in, he knows Rhys is an outlier.

"Do you remember when I first arrived on board and was compelled to sing about how I prefer sex with robots to humans? You are literally the only person on board who wouldn't find that...terminally offputting."

He's not embarrassed by it, just....aware. At the very most, in a trashy romance novel context, he's the second-string rich asshole who gets ditched for the muscular stablehand two chapters in.

He would fully admit that that had currency when he had a private jet and robot maids. Here? Enh.

"I've been here for over a year, and they...haven't," he says mildly. "Which doesn't exactly endorse your theory."

Elijah gives him a look that can best be described as 'polite bewilderment'.

"I...don't particularly want to."

Why go to all the trouble of making himself look available just to prove what he already knows?

"I...don't have a particularly high libido," he says, feeling like he's in the process of being slowly skinned alive. "I enjoy being with you."

With all the occasionally kinky practice that entails.

'Nice' feels like damnation with faint praise, but he decides that's just him being oversensitive and moves on.

"Further to that, if there's anything you want us to do that's....new, or...different," he says, cautiously. "You know we can discuss that."

Elijah lets the question just hang between them, briefly.

"I didn't think I would care. Or that I'd need any sort of...adjustment period. Both those things are true, but with that said...yes. I'm alright."

"Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you."

Deep breath. Is this what vulnerability feels like? He's not sure he's into it.