It wasn't particularly normal for Keiran to long for anything – well, anything besides the half of him that he so dearly missed. It had been a nearly all-consuming desire, and now that he was here, confronted with another desire in a pleasant little package named Sam, he was completely unawares as to what he should be doing.
What he was aware of, however, was that when Sam pulled away, he missed the contact. “I'm fantastic,” he crooned, shaking the near-empty bottle of rum that he'd scooped back up off the floor. While he had complete control to right his odd, half-lying positioning, Keiran merely snuggled into the back of the futon, crossing thick arms over his chest – he looked like a giant, dejected child.
Until a raucous laugh sprung from his throat, that was. It sounded as if Sam thought that he might be afraid of something. Keiran wasn't one to fear anything – he made other people afraid. “M'not scared.” True, he might not watch while Sam danced, and stripped, but he wasn't about to run away.