Sex was sex, a form of intimacy that could stand independent of any other. That's not what's happening here. He knows from the way their foreheads are just shy of touching, so close their bangs mingle, and he can feel the heat radiating off Akaya's face. He knows from the way Akaya says his name, and he knows from this feeling in his chest, so intense it's almost painful. Omi pumps his hand against Akaya as he takes him, and that telltale pressure builds perilously close.