In relation to the other kisses Dory had experienced throughout his life, this one wasn't perfect. Their rhythm didn't come naturally and it was obvious Greengrass wasn't talented. (Which, didn't necessarily shock Dory but he was mildly surprised nevertheless.) In fact, Dory almost felt as though he was leading Greengrass through a complex dance that the inexperienced man had never encountered. So, while not perfect, Dory maintained his same enthusiasm and attentiveness, for the kiss was exhilarating in its own way.

For one, their height difference wasn't as drastic as he was accustomed to. He didn't need to bend his knees or stoop down as he normally would have, nor did he have any urgency to move them somewhere he might be more comfortable (a chair, a bed, the wall). It was … fitting in its own unique way.

Dory barely noticed Greengrass' hands rising until they were pulling on his shoulders. Pulling, he noted, not pushing, which meant the kiss wasn't unwelcomed. (Never before had he been involved with someone unwillingly and that wasn't a trend he wished to break now. The flash of the thought alone nearly had him stutter his movements.) He dragged his hand down the length of Greengrass' arm and drifted lower to his side. Almost as if convinced he would pull away too soon, Dory's fingers gripped the fabric of his jacket.