[ That assertion rolls through him, warm and slow like honey. He ought not be doing this, catching warm feelings like a boy fresh to the Academy, basking in the pretty words of a man he's only just met.
But he's also had 20 years of life since then. He knows he is not the sort to feel at ease with very many, let alone buoyant with the knowledge they find him surprising or good or attractive. He still expects this to wilt with the morning, and if not with that, then with a few weeks. He knows what he is: a stick in the mud, an odd outsider, a broken, possibly cursed old soldier. He was not built for pleasure or companionship. And normally he let that steer.
But for some reason, this place, or this night, or perhaps just Sylvain, he's having a harder time worrying about the inevitable end and instead just...enjoying what he has while he has it. He kisses back warmly, sighing as Sylvain breaks off to turn his attention to his knee and inner thigh. He does not stem the languid hum of pleasure it pulls from him, nor does he struggle away from the growing arousal being so prone and so...doted on is stirring up in him. ]
I am not sure I can handle twice as much touching.
[ It's a warm tease, not a warning, his breath catching as he catched Sylvain looking. That touch makes him groan, his abs contorting and the swing swaying lightly, making his stomach bubble. He bites his lip, head tilting back as Sylvain's finger trails down and starts to tease his still-slick entrance. Stuck like this, all he can do is enjoy it. It's such a relief.
Even the compliment sticks a little better. He does not flinch or protest it, and he thinks he believes Sylvain. ]
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But he's also had 20 years of life since then. He knows he is not the sort to feel at ease with very many, let alone buoyant with the knowledge they find him surprising or good or attractive. He still expects this to wilt with the morning, and if not with that, then with a few weeks. He knows what he is: a stick in the mud, an odd outsider, a broken, possibly cursed old soldier. He was not built for pleasure or companionship. And normally he let that steer.
But for some reason, this place, or this night, or perhaps just Sylvain, he's having a harder time worrying about the inevitable end and instead just...enjoying what he has while he has it. He kisses back warmly, sighing as Sylvain breaks off to turn his attention to his knee and inner thigh. He does not stem the languid hum of pleasure it pulls from him, nor does he struggle away from the growing arousal being so prone and so...doted on is stirring up in him. ]
I am not sure I can handle twice as much touching.
[ It's a warm tease, not a warning, his breath catching as he catched Sylvain looking. That touch makes him groan, his abs contorting and the swing swaying lightly, making his stomach bubble. He bites his lip, head tilting back as Sylvain's finger trails down and starts to tease his still-slick entrance. Stuck like this, all he can do is enjoy it. It's such a relief.
Even the compliment sticks a little better. He does not flinch or protest it, and he thinks he believes Sylvain. ]
You could not, not without touching.