"Direct is crass, and I am anything but," Genesis fires back. The mild annoyance he feigns is probably transparent, but he still does it anyway. Mostly because it helps center him from that teetering edge of pleasure his body seems so intent to leap from.

"Mm," he hums, and carefully reaches back for his own drink. Again, he doesn't dare shift the coat, but manages to snag the glass anyway. He takes a shallow sip, and smirks over the rim at Sephiroth with the implication of clearly dragging this out. "Long enough to finish my drink. I'm still curious to what it does."