Damien and Jay
There WERE a lot of languages at home. Jay knew a smattering of words in Urdu and in Hindu, which may or may not be useful at some point in the future. Here, so far, especially, for some reason, when he had reasons to be in America instead of at the villa in Italy, or in London, people seemed to find that fact exotic and different. He wasn't certain how he felt about that as a concept, but as a single entity? The attention was nice, in an overwhelming sort of way.
At home, he hadn't really done or ammounted to very much yet, or been noticed, really, by other than his own family and even there...his sisters, actual assassins in their own right after training in England, had attracted more interest. When he'd gotten here, and learned he'd lost his chance to join the brotherhood for what felt like an even longer period...he'd been frustrated, left behind and wanted attention, but hadn't wanted to cause trouble to get it. That worked for some, but Jay had always been more pragmatic. All the same, waiting for attention had left him feeling like he'd been caught in a draught and waiting for it to rain.
Now that someone WAS doing that for him...he felt a bit of what it must be like to be a flower when rain, and the sun made you want to open up your petals and reach outward. A bit of a weird metaphor but...
The kiss, which was not his first, but was the first with a man, and with someone he was attracted to was inviting and gentle, and, as he leaned into it, he felt it, and maybe himself, opening up to a little more. He pressed into Damien's touch wanting that sort of gentle caress so badly, even as a part of himself wondered if there was something wrong with him. Was this selfish? Either way, it felt fantastic, he just...wished he knew it was okay to want more than the kiss itself, but the feeling behind it too.