The nip draws a startled breath from him, not quite enough sound to it to be a gasp. His tail twitches, the spade curling over Jim's hand even as Kurt finds himself wondering exactly how he'd ended up basically enveloped by the man. A soft smile curls his lips, even as he resists the urge to sag against the oth--his lover, dammit. Call a spade a spade. To lean into his lover and let his guard down.

When he looks into Jim's eyes and thinks of gold, the nagging familiarity clicks. "You remind me of Sascha, right now," is his whispered answer.