Edwin had been about to object that he'd hardly walked anywhere, but the praise that immediately followed that initial statement had that flush spreading further and he could only nod at the actual request, managing a quiet, "Yes, please do." As if he had to use the movement to free the words from where they'd lodged in his throat.

The tenting of his pants was much more obvious with trousers out of the way and only shorts remaining, cock straining against the softer fabric, and Edwin could only marvel at the fact that he was reasonably sure he'd never been this hard in his life or his death, and any time he'd come close it had also been inspired by Charles, so that stood to reason.

The knee he'd cracked on a gravestone earlier hadn't bled at all, only the smallest patch of friction burn from his pants, but it was definitely bruised, mottled purple, darkest at the initial point of impact, but radiating out in an uneven corona from there.

It didn't actually seem to be bothering Edwin much, given as how he bent that knee to draw that foot up to brace himself, lifting his hips to make it easier for Charles to skin him out of his pants completely. He propped himself up on his elbows once the garment was gone, looking Charles over again, "Yours too, darling."