It was so awkward.
Soren was about to die of awkwardness.
Here he was, in the middle of the Laguz Army's briefing tent.
Ranulf had lost his ever-present smirk.
Skrimir had an incredulous look about him that seemed to magnify his stupidity tenfold.
Soren's robes were getting kind of tight and sweaty.
The blush that plagued his glistening cheeks threatened to pilfer the virginity of his albino skin.
He felt mammoth hands roaming his protesting backside.
Soren's eyes widened, and he would have given a girly squeak if not for the smothering kiss that stole the air from his lungs.
The wildly public display of affection made Soren's heart race, his armpits dripping.
His feet were wet, causing his sandals to make a horrible squashing sound when he shifted his feet from one uncomfortable stance to another.
Would anything be comfortable at this point, though?
Here he was, the very object of scrutiny in this dank tent, with his lover Ike eating his face as if it had been presented to him as a stack of ribs after a year of fasting.
Soren was unable to move.
Becoming more uncomfortable each passing moment, becoming hotter, sweatier.
He was being suffocated.
A vacuum in his mouth, a horny onslaught of crushing tongues.
His lungs were burning, as he hadn't breathed for what seemed like days.
He felt like Ike was devouring him, and he would soon be pulled even further into him, on the verge of being absorbed into his muscular mass.
His gathered the force to hit Ike on the back of the head, but no effect.
Again. No effect.
Soren began swatting at the back of Ike's head with perpetual desperation, and after a minute or two of this, Ike finally let up.
His face was released from its flesh cage, and air rushed to meet his wheezing body.
Soren breathed with more laboriously than he ever had.
The 'meeting' was adjourned, Soren still recovering from the lusting wrath of his boyfriend of three years.
Soren had to change into a different set of robes, as the previous ensemble had become drenched with the uncomfortable sweat of embarrassment and sexuality.
A fatal combination.
The wind sage decided to ask his block-headed man the cause of the 'kiss'. (Was it worthy of a name with such chaste associations?)
"Ike, I'd like to know why you nearly killed me today. Kissing for three minutes with no air is generally not physically possible," Soren deadpanned.
"Well..." Ike slightly grinned.
"Well...?" Soren rushed along Ike's explanation.
"Well you looked kind of sexy when you tucked your hair behind your ear like that," Ike smiled.
Soren looked at him in horror for a moment, but regained his composure.
"Idiot," he said calmly, yet with extreme venom. He sauntered outside, not looking back, where Gallians were preparing to resume their march.
But it was the best suffocation he had ever experienced.