"Mmm," Jean-Claude hums in response. "Anything involving one of your machines, my dear Lancelot," read: computers, "or any of your paperwork, means that it is not simple in the least. And that is bureaucracy for you."

He sits back and laces his hands across his stomach, the way he is watching the other man work making it clear that he likes what he sees. He is not ashamed to admire a pretty face when it is put in front of him, after all. "But we all have to make do with what we are given, do we not."