Timothy's tongue was just foraying out to meet Aster's when the other boy pulled back, leaving Timothy feeling comfortably ruffled and warmly flustered in a way that rarely happened with kisses. The fact that Aster was still there, warm and solid against him, just made it better. He chuckled at the not-word Aster made, sounding groggy and kiss-drunk to his own ears even though it had been barely one kiss, sweet and almost chaste. The top of his tail was happily flicking against Aster's knee and he reached out to almost gingerly trace his fingers against the ribs-to-waist slant of Aster's body as though Aster would dissipate before his eyes if he touched too hard.
His hand settled like a bird nesting against the steady rise and fall of Aster's ribcage when the Ravenclaw petted him and then rubbed in a place that he hadn't known would feel like that; the cat in him was in bliss. He flushed harder, shy as always from what Aster said and the way he was looking at him and laughed a little self-consciously, tilting his head up just enough to eskimo-kiss his nose against Aster's chin. "Not next to you." he said, meaning it.