[ The now-familiar lightheaded sensation that comes with blood loss starts to creep over Ford again, but this situation is much less stressful than their last encounter, the bite much less abrupt. It's a milder sensation this time, the lightheadedness of a breath drawn too deep and held too long, and without any trace of concern that he might not be able to draw another. He is relaxed and hazy with alcohol and mild blood loss, sharply aware of every tiny movement of Ozpin against him but oblivious to anything else. Even his own movements don't quite register to him; his thumb traces tiny circles over the inside of Ozpin's wrist and he shifts his leg against the inside of Ozpin's thigh, but both gestures just get lost in the moment.
He notices he's being tipped backwards, but the significance of it doesn't register until his shoulders are against the chaise and Ozpin has pulled away from him. The scene is suddenly achingly familiar. The heat, the hand against his chest and the other in his hair, the flush on his cheeks that's now too deep to be blamed on alcohol, even the lingering twinge of pain at his throat. The uncanny light in Ozpin's eyes and the glint of sharp canine are the only new factors and they only serve to send a thrill of excitement through him. It's a familiarity he shouldn't indulge in and an excitement that should make him wary.
But he lets the familiarity and excitement guide him. The hand around Ozpin's wrist stays where it is, but the other slides over his shoulder and up his neck until Ford can sink his fingers into Ozpin's hair; he suspects it'll be just as soft as he remembers and he cannot place how he feels when he's proven right. He doesn't dwell on it, however. He leans up, pulls Ozpin down, and finally presses their lips together. ]
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He notices he's being tipped backwards, but the significance of it doesn't register until his shoulders are against the chaise and Ozpin has pulled away from him. The scene is suddenly achingly familiar. The heat, the hand against his chest and the other in his hair, the flush on his cheeks that's now too deep to be blamed on alcohol, even the lingering twinge of pain at his throat. The uncanny light in Ozpin's eyes and the glint of sharp canine are the only new factors and they only serve to send a thrill of excitement through him. It's a familiarity he shouldn't indulge in and an excitement that should make him wary.
But he lets the familiarity and excitement guide him. The hand around Ozpin's wrist stays where it is, but the other slides over his shoulder and up his neck until Ford can sink his fingers into Ozpin's hair; he suspects it'll be just as soft as he remembers and he cannot place how he feels when he's proven right. He doesn't dwell on it, however. He leans up, pulls Ozpin down, and finally presses their lips together. ]