It's matter-of-fact as the same time as it's teasing; whether Tidus is trying to find somewhere tender to poke his fingers or if he's just being honest, he can't think of a better answer than the real one. He has a fair idea of what he likes, although he doesn't think on it much, and golden skin and a muscular swimmer's build is among those things. So is, apparently, bleach-blonde hair and a wicked grin.
Nothing that Tidus says stops Auron from continuing to avoid the places that he knows he wants him to touch; the hand on his thigh snakes upward, fingers spreading, and he brushes upward along the little valleys the muscles in his chest make with his fingertips until they're placed firmly against the flat hardness of his sternum. What he usually wears is revealing enough that he isn't seeing anything new, but he knows if he shared that particular information Tidus would put two and two together and realize that he started looking before today.
He can feel the vibration of his vocal cords through the bones in his upper chest when he speaks. It should be calming, but really, it's just — He raises one eyebrow in a severe line, adam's apple visible when he swallows, not-so-subtly glancing down the length of their bodies. If he were seven years younger, he'd be a sputtering mess. Thankfully, he isn't. But it doesn't keep the uncertainty out of his voice.
"What do you want me to do?"
His good sense tells him he shouldn't ask, but he isn't very good at listening.
no subject
It's matter-of-fact as the same time as it's teasing; whether Tidus is trying to find somewhere tender to poke his fingers or if he's just being honest, he can't think of a better answer than the real one. He has a fair idea of what he likes, although he doesn't think on it much, and golden skin and a muscular swimmer's build is among those things. So is, apparently, bleach-blonde hair and a wicked grin.
Nothing that Tidus says stops Auron from continuing to avoid the places that he knows he wants him to touch; the hand on his thigh snakes upward, fingers spreading, and he brushes upward along the little valleys the muscles in his chest make with his fingertips until they're placed firmly against the flat hardness of his sternum. What he usually wears is revealing enough that he isn't seeing anything new, but he knows if he shared that particular information Tidus would put two and two together and realize that he started looking before today.
He can feel the vibration of his vocal cords through the bones in his upper chest when he speaks. It should be calming, but really, it's just — He raises one eyebrow in a severe line, adam's apple visible when he swallows, not-so-subtly glancing down the length of their bodies. If he were seven years younger, he'd be a sputtering mess. Thankfully, he isn't. But it doesn't keep the uncertainty out of his voice.
"What do you want me to do?"
His good sense tells him he shouldn't ask, but he isn't very good at listening.