Midoriya's hand in his hair is a broad, steadying pressure that Paul relaxes under as the other boy ventures further in the kiss. His mouth parts softly, which is when their teeth meet, catching a thin sliver of his lip between them. The tiny inward suck of breath at it would go unnoticed if they weren't so close, as would the faintly dazed gloss of his eyes as he looks back.

He'd say something, if not for Kaworu answering (correctly) for him - if not for the nip Kaworu gives just beneath his jaw, which draws an open gasp out of him, his back arching like a plucked thread. He wasn't expecting that; he's unguarded, shiveringly vulnerable, eyes half-lidded as he nods with his throat bobbing in a muted swallow.

"Yes," he enunciates, clean and precise, and turns his head to catch Kaworu's mouth in a hungrier kiss, hooking his leg more securely around Midoriya's to wind him even closer.

He can only be so good. He can only be so restrained. He can only be wanted so long before he starts to believe it, warm and sweet as stolen honey.