[ Tseng takes a slow drag from his glass, but his eyes do not leave Cloud. Whether that is because he enjoys the sight or expects him to run is absolutely unclear. The expression on his face—muted to hardly a whisper—does not tip the scales either way. ]
Whatever moves you is fine.
[ The last of his drink's flavor is wicked from his lips with a slowly sliding tongue. And he tips his head back, watching, expectant. ]
no subject
Whatever moves you is fine.
[ The last of his drink's flavor is wicked from his lips with a slowly sliding tongue. And he tips his head back, watching, expectant. ]