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[ There's a sound deep in Squalo's throat, something like a growl, but he follows along with the pull, casually tossing one leg over Dodger's lap himself. He does kiss back too, his movements languid and lazy, but there's also a certain hunger to it, as if he's tasting the first drop of rain after a week of wandering in the desert. ]

[ All of this feels great. If only he didn't feel that stupid guilt tugging at his heart with every breath-- ]

[ He turns his head slightly to break the kiss, laughs, and raises his bottle to suck in another big gulp, then another. He doesn't swallow the second one, though, instead giving Dodger a goddamn dirty look and pressing their lips together again to continue that kiss. And also let the vodka flow into the other man's mouth from his. It's like a college vodka kiss. Disgusting. ]