[He's always known Byleth to be direct. That much isn't new, or even much of a surprise. To have that directness turned towards pursuing him, though, is. Though it does make sense. Tomorrow they could return to their world, and could forget about this place entirely. If they don't forget, then they would likely have to set the memories aside and leave whatever went on between them here. It would already be a stretch for Byleth to be with Dimitri at home, for him to be with multiple members of his first class would be... much more than the stuffy nobles of Fodlan could handle.
Directness aside, he isn't anticipating being pushed down to the bed, Byleth's slight, barely corporeal weight shifting over him hands thoroughly mussing his hair as he kisses back readily without any hesitation.
Byleth doesn't taste much different on the cusp of death than he does in life - though his taste is muted, somewhat, as faded as his form is. In some ways, that's incentive enough to have him kissing back more deeply, to taste more of him as hands drag down his body and then back up again, taking his shirt with them.
And then the kiss breaks, and Byleth is looking down on him, taking in what he looks like flustered and, almost overwhelmed. His hair is mussed, there's a dark flush on his cheeks, his lips are reddened and wet from the kiss, and he's panting, to say nothing of how his clothing is as mussed as his hair, now.]
Why would I mind, Professor?
[He tries to put on his usual airs of confidence, tries to smirk up at him - to minimal effect. He's still more than eager, clearly, but any sharpness that might have been there normally is muted by the vulnerability he's allowing himself to show.]
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Directness aside, he isn't anticipating being pushed down to the bed, Byleth's slight, barely corporeal weight shifting over him hands thoroughly mussing his hair as he kisses back readily without any hesitation.
Byleth doesn't taste much different on the cusp of death than he does in life - though his taste is muted, somewhat, as faded as his form is. In some ways, that's incentive enough to have him kissing back more deeply, to taste more of him as hands drag down his body and then back up again, taking his shirt with them.
And then the kiss breaks, and Byleth is looking down on him, taking in what he looks like flustered and, almost overwhelmed. His hair is mussed, there's a dark flush on his cheeks, his lips are reddened and wet from the kiss, and he's panting, to say nothing of how his clothing is as mussed as his hair, now.]
Why would I mind, Professor?
[He tries to put on his usual airs of confidence, tries to smirk up at him - to minimal effect. He's still more than eager, clearly, but any sharpness that might have been there normally is muted by the vulnerability he's allowing himself to show.]