If he had been sober, Faelan would have been speechless, would have stumbled back in surprised resistance, could see himself in his mind's eye, shuddering at the physical nearness, the soft touch that was so painfully intimate.
But he had no connections between his rational instincts and his uninhibited desires at the moment, and Harry's touch on his lip felt so nice that he whispered before he could think properly.
"I don' have to pretend." The distance from his mouth to Harry's was scant, and it was so easy to lean in, tip his head, and seal their lips together.
Harry's kiss was warm and slow, but strong, and he stepped into Harry's body, pressing against him as his hands found their way to the back of Harry's head, pulling him closer.
He needed to know the truth. Did he like kissing Padma because she was a girl, or only because she liked kissing him? Would he rather be with a man, if that man liked kissing him too?