It works for them both: it's a clearer kind of permission, showing Jude exactly where he's allowed to start. And it never hurts to have Bodhi take his hand--the moments in which Bodhi reaches out are the ones that make this work. Make it feel like more than Bodhi doing, allowing something, for Jude's sake.

Which isn't to say he won't enjoy this. Jude rests his elbows at the edge of the couch, between Bodhi's knees, keeping contact simple, careful. Arm against leg, finger against tie, taking his time to pull them free. His gaze tracks up and down, checking Bodhi's face, dropping to that strip of skin. Brown gone pale between winter clothes and longer nights. Widening it fascinates him, distracts from the caution of tracking Bodhi's mood.

"If you need to pull me up, or just say stop--I won't mind," he assures him, taking no chance on eye contact in the moment. He's watching his hands now, the trousers untied, fingers slipping the hem so they can tug Bodhi's clothes at each hip. Another brief look up, his attention is caught and held by the triangle of skin he's exposed. Jude leans in, chancing a kiss to the trail of hair and breathing deep.