Before following the order (and goddamn, that was an order, not a request), Cerrit pulls off his coat. Underneath, he’s wearing a garment that straddles the line between a waistcoat and a halter top. It, too, is now bloodstained.

Cerrit sits, though, with a wryly muttered “yes, sir” that has some warm humor beneath it. There’s something hot about putting yourself in someone’s hands and trusting that they have you.