"Right on," says Johnny, grinning stupidly at him. He shifts a bit awkwardly, trying to get back up without wanting to shrug off Seth's arm, which he rather likes, really. It's just... nice. Casual and nice.

Wait, what if it's NOT casual? Johnny almost forgot to worry about this. Before the Rift, he would never imagine there might be any flirtation going on here (probably because there ISN'T), but now that he's slept with so many people, so many men, his suspicion that new acquaintances are willing to sleep with him has heightened sigificantly, not to mention how much his capacity to read physical cues has been dulled by the scotch. How do men communicate this shit, anyway? Gabe doesn't beat around the bush and Eliot was... well, Eliot. But Seth's very normal. Johnny has no idea what any of this means. Probably nothing. Johnny's not sure he even wants to do anything with Seth now that they've established this kind of drinking partnership. He should just back up and chill out.

However, his fidgeting has left him hovering pretty directly over Seth now, and gravity and his own lack of grace are moving his body faster than his sluggish brain can process all this. Before he can tell himself to actually pull away, he sort of sinks down instead, until his lips brush against Seth's.