Felih's trying very, very hard to stay composed. The man's scent is alluring, and even the light brushes of the man's fingers over his skin has him shivering, the thin, downy trail of fur down from his navel fluffing up as he shivered and squirmed.

"...you're... ugh. It sounds like something out of a novel..." he mutters, watching Azwel carefully. "I've heard only the vaguest about you. Sex Alchemist, I presume?" he accuses, trying to look stubborn and unmoved despite the fact that he is, in fact, extremely overwhelmed and vulnerable, and he knows it. Felih knows how sensitive his body is. How weak he is to pleasure, to praise and touch.

He's trying not to focus on how attractive the man is. It's hard to avoid that when Azwel is right in front of him, touching him, adjusting his bindings.