[His own words slip out easily. There is no consideration behind them, no more filter that Sephiroth usually keeps bulwarked between himself and the outside world — not now. He says only what he wants, the first few things that come to mind, or notions he’d only quietly humored, kept to himself and tucked away in a solitary corner of his mind since the night they danced and kissed.]

I want to touch you, just like this.

[His thumbs graze across her nipples, teasing at them. He hums a sound of low contentment again, resists the urge to bite down at his lower lip.]

To put my fingers inside of you, too, as you said. And for my mouth to follow everywhere I’ve touched.

[Would she want that? For his lips to be just as exploratory as his fingers?]

Would you like that?