Jude's been admired enough up close that he doesn't shrink from it entirely; he likes that Bodhi admires with his hands, too. The run of nails, fingertips over the shape of him makes him shiver, distracts him another moment from what he means to do. There's more give and take, in asking and being allowed, instead of just waiting–but he lets Bodhi distract him as well, lets it take a moment to get from yes to the act.

With Jude it's always natural. If he does what he's told it's because he wants to; if the mood simmers low and sleepy before the culmination, he doesn't push. When he undoes Bodhi's collar from the back and finally tugs it up, it's gentle, it feels like a moment made for just this, after the moment for Bodhi to drink him in with eyes and hands has had its fill. One hand winds up at Bodhi's hip, where it was last allowed, and only to steady him as pulling up the shirt puts him in a blind spot. It lets Jude look plainly at the lines of his hips disappearing into his pants, following the hem up, trying to commit what he doesn't normally see to his sieve of a memory. And when it's done, his eyes have travelled back to Bodhi's face, no harm done.

Tossing the shirt aside, he keeps the hand steadying at Bodhi's hip and sits up, his other hand brushing tousled hair back into place. The kiss is briefly initiated, but hardly chaste, a full press of lips and coaxing tongue before he pulls back to let Bodhi dictate the next move.