In many ways, Fisher was very feminine. He was very masculine in other ways, but being around James made him feel weaker than normal, like women you read about in romance novels. The sudden grab on his wrist made him gasp, the breath slowly shuddering in exhale as he stared at James, just stared, their bodies pressed close. He swallowed nervously. He felt it, felt everything, felt his chest pressed against him, those abs against his, and everything lower.
"N-no," he breathed, not a denial to James' question, but a plea. He didn't want to feel it, didn't want to know that there was attraction, that they wanted one another. He just wanted to forget about it. But of course he couldn't, not with James right there, not with his heart leaping up into his throat, pounding hard enough to choke him. He licked his lips, eyes still locked in those powerful blues ones. Slowly, a shaking hand came to rest on James' waist. "We shouldn't do this," he whispered as he leaned closer, tilting his head just so, his lips brushing over the other man's.