[ Adra's heart thrums wildly in his chest; he feels it in the back of his throat, sitting heavy, making it hard to swallow or speak. Undeniably, he had felt something from the kiss, something pleasurable and alluring and absolutely, to his mind, not for him.
Fear of the touch itself, fear of its implications, fear of falling--they're all mixed in with the lingering heat in his mouth, on his lips. No, he can't press this. Can't progress this. He cannot slip.
So he runs both hands through his own hair, breathes slowly, and disentangles himself.
Stiffly, formally, he finally talks. His veins still swim with the last of the wine, but he feels stone cold sober in this moment. ]
Well, this was lovely, but it's time for me to go.
no subject
Fear of the touch itself, fear of its implications, fear of falling--they're all mixed in with the lingering heat in his mouth, on his lips. No, he can't press this. Can't progress this. He cannot slip.
So he runs both hands through his own hair, breathes slowly, and disentangles himself.
Stiffly, formally, he finally talks. His veins still swim with the last of the wine, but he feels stone cold sober in this moment. ]
Well, this was lovely, but it's time for me to go.
[ He's not running.
(he's definitely running)
He just has to get the hell out of there. ]
Goodnight, Gilgamesh.
[ He rubs the side of his face. He steps away. ]