[Telepaths. Readers of minds. His smile thins and falls at the corners, a sensation like an icy knife sliding through his gut stilling his tongue for just a moment too long. He had experiences with them, needless to say, and has no interest in an exchange where his privacy would be more than impinged upon, his more unsettling memories dredged up and laid bare to be poked and prodded carelessly. Nor had he the desire to suffer the indignity of being pitied or ridiculed for moments in his life he had no desire to change and others he believed he could have, had he struggled and fought hard enough.

His lips purse into a line. How much did this man know from what touch they had shared? Clearly only a certain sort of touch allowed for the transfer of feelings, thoughts, and memories.]

I have neither the need nor the desire to understand the inner-machinations of your mind, for you are terribly boring to begin with.

[It’s largely a lie; on one hand, coming to understanding another well in an instant would spoil the fun of peeling back layers, slowly, and making discoveries all the while; on the other hand, learning more of another supplied him with the ammunition to attack and to manipulate and to exploit as it suited him. Unfortunately, this would be a two way exchange.]

But perhaps I shall have your flesh, if my touch is what you desire. [He musters a laugh.]