"I'm prepared," he counters, moving one hand away from Merrick's body in order to pat around at his pouches. He knows he has it on him, a vial filled with a lightly sweet-smelling oil meant to be used to help relax. It's a concoction a company member taught him years ago, and one whose recipe he's made sure to remember; the uses were numerous, after all.

He finally locates it and pulls it free from the vial, holding it up. "Hold this," he mumbles, finally pulling his head away from Merrick's neck. Metaari doesn't want to put Merrick down but the angle is going to be a little awkward to deal with if he doesn't do something about it. So he sets Merrick down and sets his hands to working at the elf's trousers, working them down. He kneels as he pushes at them, pausing for just a moment to tauntingly flick his tongue across Merrick's head as he's exposed.