It all feels so very natural, and his hand naturally finds it way to the underside of her thigh, soft bare skin and if she pressed just a little closer, she would have no doubt of the effect she has on him. Of course he wants her, but he's not going to, not so soon, and even less so when she's a little drunk. So he pulls back from the kiss, and reminds her, a murmur against her lips, "Not a come-on, love, weird or otherwise," and he puts his hand from her thigh on her back, where it's safer, tugging the shirt down where it's ridden up, and he kisses her again, gentle and brief, forcing the heat out of it, no matter how much he wants it, low fire kindled deep inside him.