Well, it was better to have it and not need it as the saying went. And well, Francis liked touch, contact, being touched. So it's a bit of practicality as well as optimism. There's an exhale of wry amusement as the other man grabs the lube out of the box, his lips curving with suggestion, although he does grab for it back, it's almost out of reflex than anything else. "Oh, I'm sure you can figure it out," teasing with a curve of his mouth that's wicked and interested.

Bullseye holds it out of reach, leaning in, and Francis exhales at the question. He reaches up, dragging a finger against the man's chest, letting the touch brush against one of the cuts in a way that definitely says he doesn't mind the blood, given how it smears against his fingertip. It might ruin the sheets, but he can get another set. He's pretty sure it'll be worth it. He nods in slow agreement, leaning in so that when he talks his lips hover against the corner of his mouth.

"It can wait," he agrees, warm and a little bit eager. "You look sort of nice like this," he admits softly. The sort of thing he wouldn't normally say out loud, but it was true anyway, and somehow he got the feeling he didn't mind that Francis was sort of a twisted mess. That he ran darker than people liked to see him as.