Marius is just earnest enough that Freddie very nearly doesn't doubt his sincerity. It's easy to lie in these moments, Freddie's found. Once all the hunger has been sated, once a person's been stripped down to sweat and breath and come, it's easy to say things one doesn't entirely mean, to make promises, however small.

Not that Marius is making any sorts of promises, of course. Thank Christ.

"What conversations?" Freddie remarks instead, laughing just a bit because it's easier to do that than face the weight of whatever it is Marius is actually saying. "The art stuff? You realize I'm just talking out my arse on all that. It's not like I've had any training."

Not really, at least. Yes, he'd gone to uni, but it hadn't been for art, exactly. And he'd left almost straight away, fed up with the theory and the classes and a dozen other reasons, one's he'll never tell anyone if he has his way. The point is, he's not an artist despite what Marius or Noah might think. He draws on his walls because he gets bored, no other reason. He's not about to make it a bigger deal than it is.

"We can just fuck, you know," he points out then, still draped heavy over Marius. "No reason it's got to be anything more than it is. You don't have to pretend you like me for more than my cock."