( He wants to argue, to push more how much this wouldn't work back home, how it'd just ruin things, but. Those kisses, oh, they steal his breath away. That touch, something he's not necessarily longed for, but has wanted, has now needed, melts him a little, cools the determination. Sinbad always had a way of pushing things, and this was no exception.

He sighs softly, leaning his forehead against Sinbad's. )

You're too idealistic sometimes, Sin. I can't say you're right, neither of us know, we can't know here, but...

( He kisses him, softly, something gentle and very, very fond. ) Gods, I love you, too.