"Ah—" hands move and find his chest and Olivine shivers, shifting to a space where (he hopes) Dante can see and feel to his heart's content. His smile is a little shy, but warm. "I hardly think so... especially compared to the Sun Lord of Solaria."

Murmuring the words, his fingers catch on fabric and follow the edges of it, coaxing it away from skin he can't see. The contrast of white marks and dark skin is ever there though, and if he focuses, he thinks he might be able to feel the difference—if just in the distribution of essence or some such.

"Of course, I'm humbled that you think me so. I... should let you know that my chest is sensitive, so if you require me to keep my self-control in check... I don't think I can promise that like this."