We should look like we're busy, Cecil concludes. Some part of him concludes that, anyway. There is definitely one part of his mind that is still capable of looking at this from the outside and thinking, If we are sufficiently close together, that will be construed as being too busy to talk to other people, and that is what we want to happen.

It is, however, not a prominent part of his mind thinking this, because most of him is considering with wonder how rapidly his heart is beating, and how he is not sure where his breaths begin and Carlos' end. More of him is concentrating on sliding his hand around to the back of Carlos' head, to rest at the back of his neck, to pull him still closer. He is wrapped up in sinking back against the couch, carefully, making sure that Carlos stays with him for every inch of this small distance.

He thinks he might reply. He considers it. In the end, though, he only nods once-- which Carlos must feel, because their foreheads are still touching. That nod moves smoothly into tipping his head to find Carlos' mouth, guided with the hand at the back of his neck, a kiss still soft-- but open-mouthed this time.

There is no space between them whatsoever. They are in public. Cecil's eyes have fallen closed, and he is not sure what surface his drink has ended up on; the hand not now winding into Carlos' hair is resting on his shoulder, and seeking purchase in his clothes.

This is a terrible idea, thinks absolutely no part of Cecil's conscious mind.