Barrow Fields we look sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard. we are, but it’s almost effortless

The stranger countered his argument with some ridiculous notion about making love not war, or that's what he gleaned from it. Firefly wasn't squeamish about his sex life - or sex in general - but he didn't know how to feel about the way the pale warrior spoke to him; he especially didn't know how to feel about the way he looked at him, because it was equal parts flattering and predatory.

Firefly would've continued to assert the notion that he was trying to divide the two during the skirmish, but as he opened his mouth his tongue felt tied; Feeling you beneath me was instinct, I'm afraid. — what?

This was making him uncomfortable; he wasn't an idiot, but he was sheltered from some concepts (and had been prior to his memory loss), so he wasn't sure how to take this, either. He felt a rumble start in his chest and he took a bold step towards the stranger - perhaps to test his own mettle - and he warned, You got lucky, took me by surprise. I'd sooner rip that smile off your face than let you get the upper hand again, dragedan.

But even if he was struggling to comprehend, to admit subtle truths to himself about himself, Firefly couldn't stop the flush of warmth to his face.