The languid sway of her hips had not been lost to the man. It took far more self-control than usually necessary not to slow his pace for a better glimpse, his sense of propriety stretched to the limit since their breathless admission of shared feelings for one another. Before, Osamu would have punished himself for the thought; now, however, knowing what he did...

... He was still a man, at the end of the day. And he sure wasn't dead.

It was proving even more difficult with the way she now pressed herself up against him.

Ah, er - he fumbled for words and came up dry. Rather than ruin the moment, he chose to embrace it, cheeks burning hot as he arched his neck to cradle her head beneath him.

But she didn't want to simply cuddle.

Oh no.

私の皇后はそれをウィル場合, (If my Empress wills it) Osamu said with some hesitance. This would require further fortification. Without any attempt at concealing his anxiousness, he bent down and quickly downed a thick wad of fermented fruit to hasten the process; if Izumi might die of shame later, Osamu would surely go first.

She drew him closer and his breath hitched alarmingly in his throat.

It was expected for the man to lead - although he had never taken a formal dancing lesson in his life - but he'd seen enough in his travels to have a loose grasp on the motions.

And so he did.

Slowly, gently, Osamu bent his head over hers, tucking her crown against his chest as he gradually recalled the steps and swayed to a song only they could hear.