It's weird the things that translate across literal outer space. Jude doesn't know what an outer rim is, or half the cargoes Bodhi describes from his hauls--but baby is still what you say at a moment like this. Jude has to hide in his hair for that one, even if the flush creeps down his neck.
"You are good at it," he manages to say, head still down. He's trying not to move his body at all, to soak up the heat at his front and back and just exist. That's safe, that isn't--it doesn't hurt and it doesn't disappoint. The state of him should be proof, it's just--somewhere in it all you starts to mean him and the idea of it, that fear to act, is something he's started to carry.
He doesn't quite turn, doesn't want to break the grip. But Jude peeks out of his hair, searching. There aren't words enough in him, to say that he doesn't know what to do. To say that he's afraid to get this wrong, that there are things Bodhi is allowed to pull away from, always, but he doesn't want to be the reason. "Just," he says instead, feeling like someone invented a new kind of helpless while he wasn't paying attention: "Can you just, put my hands where you want them?"
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"You are good at it," he manages to say, head still down. He's trying not to move his body at all, to soak up the heat at his front and back and just exist. That's safe, that isn't--it doesn't hurt and it doesn't disappoint. The state of him should be proof, it's just--somewhere in it all you starts to mean him and the idea of it, that fear to act, is something he's started to carry.
He doesn't quite turn, doesn't want to break the grip. But Jude peeks out of his hair, searching. There aren't words enough in him, to say that he doesn't know what to do. To say that he's afraid to get this wrong, that there are things Bodhi is allowed to pull away from, always, but he doesn't want to be the reason. "Just," he says instead, feeling like someone invented a new kind of helpless while he wasn't paying attention: "Can you just, put my hands where you want them?"