Even though they're cooperating — keeping up with each other — his eye flutters open when he feels the hands on his chest. Whatever he expected that movement to mean, it wasn't more attention angled in his direction. He would be fine without it. He could say this. But he knows, all the same, that that's not what this is about.

He knows Tidus isn't thinking ahead. They're not the kinds of people who do.

He's the kind of person who grabs his thighs where they're still under his hands to press his hips down while he pushes up smoothly with his own, still no more insistent, but his grip is getting tighter.

"Lift your hips."

Belatedly, he loosens his hands so he can.