He shifts, fractionally, just enough to glance up in the direction of Cerrit's face, then returns to gently kissing his knuckles.

"There was nothing predatory about it. For that matter, I have seen my share of human predators," Watson adds, his voice slow and even as he tries to walk through this idea. "None of them had talons, but that never stopped them from being utter beasts. Perhaps you don't need a knife to do any of it but the tool is hardly the point. If -- oh, Cerrit, love, I haven't given the impression I think of you that way, even a little?"

It seems a valid question. Watson is not sure where this worry is coming from, not entirely.