Certainly foolish. But they do keep Gilbert there, somehow. He doesn't bristle against the suggestion of restraint, doesn't move to pull away further. He watches Liir's eyes coolly, scrutinizing for a long moment, and then leans back up against his chest.

"Well, then. Ça marche."

And he sounds more relieved than anything, as he goes onto his tiptoes, tracing feather-light kisses along the curve of Liir's neck, while he waits for him to regroup.

There are no memory-flashes this time. At least not yet.