Tidus isn't expecting a real answer. There was a joke in asking, his own mind wondering about the people he might've if they were interested, would have if the timing was right, but figuring the subject one of those that all lonely people think about. The one about not being alone, having someone to hold or be intimate with; a mutual comfort from time to time.
So he isn't bothered by the wait, being more troubled by the that pulls away from under his resting cheek. But then, when Inigo does reply and ask--
What if I was asking?
--Tidus looks back at the face, the eyes waiting and watching on his. Confusion and shock meeting him, only turning more puzzled, more questioning as it registers. His lips moving without asking what they want to; the hold of his arms loosening as he becomes more attentive to this subject between them than the physical, but not pulling away.
Are you serious?
For real?
You mean--
Really?
But the struggling gaze under his answers him, and the beating of his heart quickens with the realisation. Fingers press into the bare skin of Inigo's shoulder. If this wasn't a heat pool they were in, the fever to his face would be noticeable, surely. Tidus feels the rush himself, like tingles and pinpricks to his skin.
What if I was asking?
What if he was asking?
The request for permission sits on Tidus's lips, another dying thought; when all he needs is to look at Inigo's, and--
What if he did ask?
It's easier to lean in and let his lips brush tentatively against his, to see that Inigo won't draw back. That he doesn't draw back himself, regret the decision.
no subject
Tidus isn't expecting a real answer. There was a joke in asking, his own mind wondering about the people he might've if they were interested, would have if the timing was right, but figuring the subject one of those that all lonely people think about. The one about not being alone, having someone to hold or be intimate with; a mutual comfort from time to time.
So he isn't bothered by the wait, being more troubled by the that pulls away from under his resting cheek. But then, when Inigo does reply and ask--
What if I was asking?
--Tidus looks back at the face, the eyes waiting and watching on his. Confusion and shock meeting him, only turning more puzzled, more questioning as it registers. His lips moving without asking what they want to; the hold of his arms loosening as he becomes more attentive to this subject between them than the physical, but not pulling away.
Are you serious?
For real?
You mean--
Really?
But the struggling gaze under his answers him, and the beating of his heart quickens with the realisation. Fingers press into the bare skin of Inigo's shoulder. If this wasn't a heat pool they were in, the fever to his face would be noticeable, surely. Tidus feels the rush himself, like tingles and pinpricks to his skin.
What if I was asking?
What if he was asking?
The request for permission sits on Tidus's lips, another dying thought; when all he needs is to look at Inigo's, and--
What if he did ask?
It's easier to lean in and let his lips brush tentatively against his, to see that Inigo won't draw back. That he doesn't draw back himself, regret the decision.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he presses in closer. ]