[Fyodor approaches, and Chuuya works to catch his breath. He's not planning on hurting the man-- if he's here the alliance is probably in play, and Chuuya isn't planning to fuck it up. After all, they'd had no results in regard to figuring this world out, let alone a way home.

He wipes a lingering droplet of water from his lips, staring up at Fyodor in surprise.] You've got some very interesting taste, because when I first woke up with them I nearly had a heart attack. Pretty sure people in town find 'em unnerving, too.

[He's working on closing his canteen when Fyodor reaches over, the press of a fingertips against his bare skin, against his throat drawing Chuuya's breathing to a halt for a moment. When his next inhale comes it's a little unsteady, though not from fear, the ever present skin-warm leather of his collar only making the feel of Fyodor's fingers stand out more.

The marks themselves curl up against Chuuya's cheek, throat and jaw in violent whorls, and at one point they'd even dipped beneath his shirt, though they've begun to recede since then. He watches Fyodor carefully as the man examines them, waiting to see what he'll do.]