Thomas touches carefully, gently, and even that soft contact is enough to set his senses tingling, his Hunger aching against the bars of the cage. He is well aware of Steve's attraction, of most people's attraction. It's his power and, for Thomas specifically, his curse. And that makes it easy enough for him to delicately dip his fingers into the warm energy of his aura. It's beyond an effort not to let any of it slip in, to keep his word, but his real focus is on pulling Steve into peaceful bliss with a single stroke of his fingers. There are darker things there, deeper things; he can feel them, that less-rabid hunger for Thomas to do more, for all the things Steve would love to do to him. With him. Against him, bodies entwined, Thomas pressed against a wall as Steve scented at his throat, perfect heat and friction driving them both higher and higher in a spiral. Thomas could give him that. Thomas could drink deep from him and rip a mark into that soul that would have Steve coming back to him for more, more, always more, every time, satisfy them both on the seemingly endless font of serum-enhanced life.

But he won't. And he doesn't.

And a moment later, he lets his hand drop away from Steve's.

"Addicted."

And his voice might be a little tight but only because he's using the effort to strangle his demon into submission. Margaery, for her part, drops into his lap, startling him a little. He's thankful for it, though. It redirects his attention.