Sunspire Mountains all the butterflies have turned to vultures in my stomach

Riley wouldn't even have had a chance to respond to Esme's heated question, much less the way she strode forward as if he were embers and she was long sick of him. He saw no interest at all in her suddenly kiln-lit gaze; just a species of annoyed disgust that had his personal feelings shriveling a la Shelob.

He scurried backwards. As much as he would very much love Esme in his personal space, it was not this way -- his ears fell to his skull as he bent his spine, casting his gaze away in a show of submission. Her advancement was full of a sudden vitriol he was not aware he was adept at pressing; blindly he fumbled around for some way to switch it off.

Did you just come to fuck? Riley's offset eyes widened in first surprise and then indignation. He didn't have any word for what he felt for Esme (pro-tip: infatuation) but he wanted more from her than, well, that. He stood up ever so slightly, still keeping his eyes away from the abrasive intensity of her own. "I've never done that before." Riley had no reason to lie, and had always been honest -- so, Esme was spared no excruciating detail about Riley's lack of experience in that field. Quieter now than his first admission, Riley fumbled something into the dirt that sounded suspiciously like "I just like you."