There's another sound bubbling up in the Cat's throat the longer his mouth stays on Edwin's, the longer his nails stay pressed against his flesh, the longer Edwin lets him touch and touches him back-- and when he feels Edwin's hand move he hasn't quite noticed the tension suddenly stilling the ghost's frame until he feels his hand pushing at his chest.

The noise turns from what probably would have been a groan of encouragement, a gasp at the very least, into an outright whine as his lips leave Edwin's and his breath comes heaving out of him. Had he honestly forgot to breathe back there? Had he really been too focused on everything else that he almost put basic survival instinct to one side in favour of not letting the moment wain? Shit, he really does have it bad, doesn't he?

He tips his chin up, not repairing the kiss because Edwin had broken it for a reason, but not drawing back either. Because Edwin hadn't actually said stop, and though he'd pushed him back, he hadn't pushed him away. Either way, he might as well shoot his shot.

"Enough of what?" He asks, breath ghosting the scant space between them, flicking open eyes he didn't realise he'd closed to assess Edwin's face, to watch his kiss-bruised lips as he elaborates: "The kissing, or the tongue?"