"Aren't you the poet?" he returns drolly, even if Cassidy's raunchy rhyme might be closer to a limerick, which Eccarius hardly would consider poetry needless to say. Clearly Cassidy needs to get him stoned and teach him all the nasty little ditties.

He lifts his hips enough to give Cass some room to work, tilting his head in consideration. "Well, since we are already in position for the latter, why waste it?"