In a strange way, this hits him with all the heady, reckless joy of a teenage indiscretion. The eager energy of fumbling after pleasure for the first time, far from composed, far from aware of how to satisfy one's own needs beyond 'more' and 'now'. Each roll of the hips, grinding against Balthier, is like the overeager desire, and he doesn't feel ashamed of it at all. He feels free in it, and he chuckles, still low and rich, as he opens his mouth more to Balthier.

Let Balthier have the kiss, he decides, he has far better plans that involve letting his fingers flirt with the waistband of Balthier's pants, reveling in the feel of the skin there, attentive to any little jumps he might cause muscles to make.