[At some point, he starts leaning in rather than away - he never moves the hands from Petre's shoulders to touch him, never crosses that line, but his head tilts ever so slightly to improve the angle and he accepts those light brushes of tongue against his lips without drawing away. Never opens his mouth to them, either, but there are subtle hints of reciprocation; still, he's being kissed more than kissing.
And this this time he's flushed as well when they break apart, mouth still damp, trying to process what's happened. He has no idea if he liked it, if it's something he'd want again, but he didn't jerk away. He didn't darken that bruise on Petre's eye. That's enough to send his mind into overdrive.
(They do feel good. His lips. As soft as he would've imagined, if he had ever imagined such a thing.)]
This isn't - [He swallows.] - this doesn't mean - [Licking his lips nervously, tasting the alcohol from Petre's mouth and shivering a little.] - this is never happening again.
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And this this time he's flushed as well when they break apart, mouth still damp, trying to process what's happened. He has no idea if he liked it, if it's something he'd want again, but he didn't jerk away. He didn't darken that bruise on Petre's eye. That's enough to send his mind into overdrive.
(They do feel good. His lips. As soft as he would've imagined, if he had ever imagined such a thing.)]
This isn't - [He swallows.] - this doesn't mean - [Licking his lips nervously, tasting the alcohol from Petre's mouth and shivering a little.] - this is never happening again.