[It struck him too, but not because he feels differently about it; more because his fingertips can sense some of the textured skin on her cheek as they brush over her skin. If he were to stop and think about it, he'd scold himself for being so free with his touch, with the hand sliding over her skin and the arm slipping around to urge her closer, with his lips that not-so-gradually deepen their kiss.]
[He can't help it, she's given permission and he spent most of the evening with her in his arms and -- well. He may not have human skin but he's still a human, and one not far removed from adolescence, long repressed and recently rejected, with what he considers to be a beautiful woman kissing him with distinct encouragement. Having such temptation in front of him isn't easy to resist.]