Quite willing, Zechs moved so he's pressed along the other man's front, hands reaching up to card through his hair. Already, he's thinking, planning. It was difficult to turn off his mind, after all. Was this man bereft of a more delicate touch, with his background, and craved it? Or was he like Zechs himself, and appreciated rougher play?

But Sephiroth drew back and Zechs made no move to prevent him. As he answered, his voice was lower, rougher, than it'd been previously.

"Zechs Merquise," Zechs told him, raising his eyebrows. "Yours?"