Neither of them were going to fight it. Whatever it was. As Barclay leaned in, Thierry went the last ten percent and felt Barclay's lips press against his. His eyes closed as he did. He didn't push much, but Barclay would feel the bark of the tree press against his back and Thierry's chest against his. Thierry's hair was cold and wet from the morning, his skin damp, but as Barclay noted, he emanated heat.
One hand lifted the press against the root of the tree, and then other found a place at Barclay's side. When he pulled back, it wasn't far. His eyes opening partially as he said, "If 'dat what your fighting, then I don't know why you'd want to fight at all."