( It could be the festering fear still lingering at the depths of his mind creeping up, or simply the rush of blood leaving his face whenever their mouths come together again. Whatever it is, he feels shrouded in this fog that only hones onto the man in front of him. Sunday's wings unfurl, tense and vivid and riddled with sensitive nerves at the root of each feather. The electrifying chill runs down his spine as his lips linger close against Six's. Golden eyes lock onto him, momentarily focused on every scratch against half his face. Intimacy is hard on its own, and even harder with a person he barely knows. )

I'm not very good at it.

( He admits, and it's more of a warning because why should Six subject himself to someone who barely knows how to kiss? )

...It is the way of the House, though. We can keep going before the crows come back. If you still want to.