Uncaring of angles or intent, Jude follows in those first attempts to move down. His head tips up from the back of the couch, meeting Bodhi halfway when he lingers, when he comes back for more. The nudge gets him to set his head back; he's pinned by Bodhi's weight, arm at an odd angle where the elbow digs to the corner of the couch, his hand steadies at Bodhi's side, his throat drapes exposed over the back of the couch for Bodhi's attention.

Which isn't where it goes. The noise he expected to muffle is replaced with a short gasp, sucked between his teeth. He doesn't even know if he likes the sensation, just that it exists. Bodhi's mouth is on his ear again; the tight reaction of his jaw stands a line out along his throat, and his pulse jumps.

Good or bad, he's flushing for it. It's been a long time since anyone crawled in his lap, and it was always the best way. Sit him down, straddle him, show him what to do. He's gathering Bodhi's hair in his hand again, letting it slip its length through his fingers as they just barely press tips to the back of his head, encouraging and supporting without holding him in. The flush is going to the root of him, but he's trying not to think about it--what will happen if he gets properly hard, with Bodhi this close. It won't be like waking up with it and rolling away to start the fire and forget.