His jaw goes wherever Bodhi wants it; control is easy to give, like he's made for it. He's always been waiting for something else to come along and make the decisions, reveal the point, guide him through whatever he's meant to be doing. In the meantime, people have sufficed. Parker, teachers, friends, now this. He can want this, but want it to be on Bodhi's terms. He can want things within it, but leave them up to review.

Jude lays his cheek against Bodhi's palm, drops his gaze somewhere around Bodhi's throat. Pure supplication, with his fingers in the hems of Bodhi's clothes, testing what touch he's allowed.

It's funny, if he bothers to think about it: he's getting hard, but it makes the rest of him soft. Already pliant in Bodhi's hands, the grip on his side is the dry warmth of a palm and little else, the fingers at his collar curl just barely in to keep the grasp, more on Bodhi's clothes than his skin. Everything is firelight and a loss of focus; does he want to put his mouth on the apple of Bodhi's throat, or does he just hope Bodhi will do it to him? He can't make either happen, so he floats in the want.