[Being accused of nervousness seems to square him up. Eyes narrowed, he follows Olivine's movement, allowing the hand to take him to the bed, then keeps drawing forward with the momentum until he's leaned over him, a hand braced on the mattress by Olivine's thigh. His long ponytail falls forward over his shoulder and his face is close to Olivine's face, but even in that proximity he doesn't quite meet his eyes. Long habit of being uneasy with direct eye contact.]
Hmph. So what would you say you're made of, then?
[He takes the hand that had just been holding his own, and brings it up. He touches his lips lightly to Olivine's thumb, considering the digit like it's practice for what's ahead.]
no subject
Hmph. So what would you say you're made of, then?
[He takes the hand that had just been holding his own, and brings it up. He touches his lips lightly to Olivine's thumb, considering the digit like it's practice for what's ahead.]
...I won't mind getting on my knees.