"Oh? Has she been meddling?" he asks it, but it's an idle question, more something to fill the silence while they eat than anything of any real consequence. Whatever conversation there might be is light and Gustavain doesn't waste much time with the food, eating just enough to keep his hunger at bay for a bit before rising to move over and all but flop into the bed. He'll finish the rest tomorrow, if he's still hungry, he figures, or maybe just later in the evening after he's had a chance to rest, but his body is feeling every last swing of that giant sword, now, and laying down is too fine a thing to resist anymore.

He leaves the soft robe they've been given the use of on when he collapses into bed, but it gapes in a way that suggests he's not wearing anything underneath it, and the picture he paints on the bed is both sensual and cozy, moreso for how little he seems to realize it. Phillip coming closer (if he hasn't just followed him down to start with) will get him caught with that longer reach and dragged over into the bed, pulled close and warm almost immediately.

"Much better," Gustavain intones, humorously grave, once he can settle his head on Phillip's collarbone, limbs wound around him.