Ilarion' chest heaved softly as he absorbed the words, bolder and more unguarded than he would have expected from Oleksei, with his ruthless, incredulous aggression.

His defensive stance, default, as far as Lasha had surmised.

He did not look defensive now.

Unsure of how he was being received, perhaps. Apprehensive. Conflicted- though not over his own words, it was worth marking; no, he seemed more concerned with the fallout of their utterance.

Lasha took a slow sip of cognac, without turning his head, keeping his eyes trained on Oleksei all the while.

After swallowing, he set it down once more, with a nearly soundless clink of glass.

"You please me, Taras," he said, softly. Lightly. "Don't ever stop."