His pulse is racing, he can feel it; the dull throb at his wrists, the whoosh of blood in his ears, his throat tightening more and more by the minute. Yet Sizhui still holds firm, eye-contact never breaking, a steady reminder that he's absolutely, one-hundred-percent serious about this.

Perhaps if he were younger, it'd be extra taboo, but he's twenty-two now. Plenty old enough to make his own decisions and far above the legal age limit of consent without it being too questionable.

Again, he exhales a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, unable to stop a pleased grin from coming across his face, circumstances aside. “You're right.” Both about ground rules and him only knowing what he does because of the internet. Sizhui's hands slide from his pockets as he heads toward the couch, resting flat across his thighs once he's perched himself on the cushion, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, prepared to listen. “I'm ready to know more, though.”