"Oh no," Nero mumbles, wriggling in his grip, "you'll have to get laid more regularly. What a trial for the great Cid Garlond, getting his ashes hauled on a regular basis..."

Later he'll feel stupid for this. Right now he's in subspace, delirious on the contact with his beloved rival, the center of his universe, the warmth and touch of him. "What could possibly be worse?"