There's something about kissing, something about being kissed, that bypasses all of his higher faculties and goes straight to his dick.

It catches him by the heart, too.

But that intense throb in his cock is the loudest part of a hot-wired startup he can never prevent or turn off. He's wished he wasn't this way--still wishes that, wishes he had more control, more layers of insulating something, that he didn't run so hot and turn on so easy. Double meanings fully intended.

His thoughts skip briefly, like a CD.

(Not that he's ever owned a CD.)

Among the more useless ones: Hythlodaeus' lips are cold.

Among the more intelligent: Betwixt him and Emet... and him and Dirk?

It's so bewilderingly specific that he can't possibly misunderstand it, but it feels like a misunderstanding in its own right.

There's so much else going on inside his head right now that he can barely focus on that alone.

Which is a major reason (but not the only reason) Dirk doesn't fight Hythlodaeus off him so much as he takes the first quasi-natural opportunity to break away--though he does do that fairly quickly, hurrying to take a breath and speak before Hythlodaeus does anything else.

"I can give you what you want," agitation tints that confused frustration more strongly now. "Why me, too?"