sixthiterationlogs | Just to break my own fall

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Just to break my own fall

WHO: Bodhi and Jude
WHERE: Jude's house
WHEN: After the holiday party
OPEN TO: Closed to Jude Sullivan
WARNINGS: Sappy bullshit

Bodhi's not usually quite this stupid over Jude, partly because he restrains himself, partly because even he's not this ridiculously romantic. Their banter at the party wasn't even that out of the ordinary, even if Jude taking his hand in public was a bit beyond the usual. They both fed each other's nonsense until they were completely twitterpated, and it feels fantastic, if distantly kind of foolish. Too hard to care through Jude carefully (and unnecessarily) helping him into his robe and scarves, through the snow-shimmering walk hand in hand, the cold bringing a little extra color to Jude's cheeks (and probably his, but what does he care). Impossible to think about anything else as they finally wend their way toward the house and Bodhi's hand tightens on Jude's through their gloves and looks away just to give himself a break from grinning so hard. Spending nights with Jude has ceased to be a big deal and of course his damage is still a wall between them, but he's the good kind of nervous anyway. This feels like it could almost be normal, a real, regular date with a functional person like Jude deserves. The faint swirl of soft, pretty nothingness lets him collect himself a bit as they head up the steps.

Then there's hurrying through the door as a practical matter. No reason to let the house get colder. But that's as practical as he feels like being, and as soon as the door is closed he turns, catches Jude's shoulders, and steals a kiss. A quick one. He knows they have to deal with the fire and coats and bullshit, but he's been waiting on that for what feels like a very long time.

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It's good to have a task, better for it to involve kneeling and facing one direction. It lets him peek beyond the fall of his hair, over a shoulder, to watch Bodhi peel off his layers. Jude doesn't mind being observed, but in the moment, he isn't so bold as to openly observe back. Justification is the automatic way his teeth sink into his lower lip, and how he has to truly aim his gaze at the logs in the grate, running his hands over warm ash to carefully expose a few living embers.

He doesn't mind sacrificing some of the paper, but he thinks Bodhi might on some level--so it's just twigs and leaves stuffed over and blown on until they curl up in orange and ash. Over and over until the twigs stay lit long enough to catch the logs. Fire illuminates and obscures with warm light the flush fixed on his face.

To anyone else it might seem silly, the effect of Bodhi in a single layer. Before he even presses close, before he's tucking back Jude's hair and speaking at his ear--Jude's always so smitten with the shape of him. Hands in the sweep and fold of robes and sashes, or now, that rangy half of him disappearing into the looser folds of his pants. He wants--to draw that, and to run his hands firmly up Bodhi's forearms over his sleeves. To see him with his sleeves rolled up. To see him in his denim jacket.

By the time that all processes, he has no idea what Bodhi's said. Jude turns his head, into the side Bodhi's exposed by petting back his hair, and looks back over his shoulder with more presence than the usual times he blanks out on the man. "I--" he blinks, backtracks. "We'd figure something out. Blankets." Body heat.

Bodhi spends a lot of time wondering at Jude's willingness to engage in all the patience and care this requires. There's a lot to wonder at. His feelings on the subject usually settle on a sort of abject gratitude that stops him from having to think much more on the subject, but the look he's getting now turns his thoughts from the habitual how does he put up with me that rings in the background of all his thoughts to what does he see in me. Something must make it worth all this, and he's never thought that far before. Has anyone ever looked at him like that? He's felt that people cared about him before, but never so openly admired. Maybe it's the artist's eyes turned on him.

It brings back some of his usual bashfulness, but he's brave enough tonight not to look away from the intensity of Jude's attention. He leans in instead, dropping down in front of the fire, too, and continuing to play with Jude's hair. He's becoming very adept at this maneuver, overcompensate for his own cowardice by leaning in and not away. "You'd keep me warm, yeah." There's a bit of a tremor in his voice, but he's still in this.

Maybe he shouldn't cut it after all: if Bodhi likes it this much, more can only be better. His head is canted for the touch, his coat folded over his legs and crushed up in the way he's crouched to start the fire. As he loosens to simply kneel, it slides down, a nest of folds for him to wipe his ashen hands on.

The tremor gets a look, but it's more--a steadying. Jude stops himself tilting more and more sideways into the intensity of it all. One of them has to, and Bodhi is already trying.

His hands curl in the folds of his coat, wanting to touch, wanting to not get this wrong. He hadn't been careful with Credence at all, really, but that had been--life and death. He'd grab onto Bodhi to save him, he'd do it without thinking. Now all he can do is think, and compromise with himself. Bodhi's hand is in his hair, so he brushes his fingers along his arm, taking his time to test a grip near his elbow. Just a place to hold, just fingers appreciating the shape of bone, the density of muscle. "One way or another," he agrees, knowing the fire's grown properly from the way the light washes over Bodhi's face.

Slow, careful, good. Jude's expert care keeps him away from the edge, and times like this (was there ever a time like this before?), it's lovely all on its own. Feather-soft caresses from pleasantly rough fingers. Jude's hands match his voice. Appreciating that has nothing to do with being broken. He looks for a moment, reassuring himself that he knows where Jude's hands are. Good, good and almost safe.

"You're resourceful like that." The words are nonsense, but they don't really feel important. What does is moving in close, speaking right into Jude's ear and then nuzzling into his hair, breathing in deep and aware of the shell of the ear at the corner of his mouth as he does. Woodsmoke and snow and Jude, the silky, tickling fall of his hair, it's enough that he doesn't need steadying anymore. And he doesn't have to wonder what he could possibly have done to be looked at like that if all he can see is the confusion of light and shadow as the firelight passes through Jude's hair. That's something, too.

It really is different, in a way that has merit. Slow amd careful can be good. The slowest thing before this was girls who liked to dance first. Jude was inept, but it was the kind of dancing that was mostly standing in one place. A lot of swaying, a lot of kissing. He's dancing with Bodhi now, and he's--

Juce can't help the shiver. His grip tightens just to steady, and the turn of his head is a kind of supplication: he's exposing his throat, sighing audibly.

He spent so much time near the end of term, locked in his dorm. When was the last time someone touched his ear, when had anyone touched him like this at all? Would it matter? They wouldn't have been Bodhi. "I--"

There isn't quite a crack in his voice, but he doesn't know what he wanted to say. He wants to turn his head, kiss him again. Instead, he flounders, and he wonders if this is being careful, if this is getting it right, or if Bodhi is the brave one between them.

He remembers, no, it wasn't their first kiss. That was just a quick, slightly regrettable lapse in Bodhi's judgement. The first time they really spent time on it, the assurance that he could do this whenever he wanted. He's not foolish enough to think Jude doesn't have boundaries of his own, but they must be more remote, more ordinary. Maybe he can just give himself permission to let Jude tell him if he crosses a line and stop thinking he might be about to do it every moment? It's projection. It's stupid. It's still hard to just reject.

And, well, that's a pretty clear request. Bodhi has to half stand to move like this, but it's quick, if clumsy, a hurried shuffle that moves him from kneeling next to Jude to behind him, chest to back, an excellent position to pull Jude in and kiss a line down his neck from his ear. Bodhi would hate it, but being the one doing it feels pretty amazing, and that... That has to be okay sometimes. Jude shivering and sighing and getting what he wants is what Bodhi needs from this.

His mouth, it's corners, his hands. Even when Bodhi takes his time with it, Jude has it in his head. Where Bodhi kisses, how long. Never with someone present, but within the possibility of it. Usually in this house, or out in the trees. They hold hands, they catch up on sleep while it's too cold to avoid it. Sometimes he comes back from one of those long moments, where he just goes away from his body, and instead of a question he gets a kiss on the cheek. He likes those, even if he isn't all the way back inside himself when they happen.

They hold hands. Sometimes, if he needs it enough, Bodhi lets him put his head down on his shoulder and be quiet for awhile. It's fine, it's more than he crawled out of the fountain expecting.

But Bodhi hasn't quite let him go since they left the inn, save to strip down to his sleeved shirt. It's steadying them in a sling around Jude's waist, and it is solid, and he doesn't let himself touch it. Bodhi is solid and enough at his back, and it feels a little like going out of his head when he kisses his neck. Except he isn't gone, he's narrowed down to the feeling of skin and hair over his pulse, and he's present enough to know the low, embarrassing noise he makes. When he gets back in his head, it's running on a loop, a reminder--this doesn't go anywhere and it's fine--and it is fine. It's more than fine, just--he doesn't know what to do.

Somewhere in the disappearing and coming back, in the low noise, he'd laid his head to one side and given Bodhi room to go half down his shoulder before finding the collar of his shirt. He'd risen a hand, and it hovers where it meant to find some part of Bodhi and hold him there. "You don't," he starts, and swallows. "You don't have to."

It's true that he didn't exactly plan ahead. He has no plan. He just wants the closeness he's confident he can handle, wants to keep Jude close enough to feel under his hands and to make him make cute little noises whenever he does something right. Making it good for Jude has been something he's wanted in the abstract for a long time, has always been the way he focused his energy, but this is the first time he's felt like he could do it. That and Jude flush against him like this makes his own head fluttery and unfocused.

He definitely gets the impression he's doing a good job and is ready to tease a little more when Jude speaks, and Bodhi stops short for a moment. "Do you... think I don't want to?" He doesn't want to lose the giddy, exhilarating mood he's been in since they left the party, can't reverse that quickly anyway, but he hates the idea that Jude would think he doesn't want to be here. No need to jump to conclusions. Right? "Baby, I know I'm not good at--I know I don't have to. I want to. Okay?"

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?"

He didn't mean for baby to slip out. Given Jude's ambivalence to being told he was cute, it would have been something to avoid, if possible. But it seems to have gone over... pretty well, actually, not that he'd be confident in it staying that way if they weren't where and when they are. He'll revisit that later.

Bodhi tightens his grip and presses his nose into Jude's hair again, trying not to tease this time, wanting to be intent and clear but maybe not risk driving the guy crazy while they're working on something important. That's actually--That's an excellent idea. He immediately loves it. Doesn't seem fair to Jude, definitely isn't normal, but, damn, everything would be so easy that way. "Kriff, yes," he says, smiling at the absurdity of it.

Though from here that's not exactly fair. Bodhi quite likes where he is, but even if he were a normal person who didn't need to be treated like a time bomb, there wouldn't be much for Jude to reach. He lets go with a quick kiss to Jude's cheek. "Come on, couch." Honestly, trying to do this on the floor was probably a dumb idea anyway.

Being called cute reminds him of school--any warmth elicited is from the person, Bodhi, feeling close or bold enough to say it. Baby is something else: he hasn't been baby to anybody in all the time he can remember, spotty as it is. But he remembers being led, and it's easy to follow.

It should have been easy to sit half in Bodhi's lap and be kissed, but they're fixing it now. Bodhi is the opposite of put off, brightening, squeezing him, dropping close for more affection. He does kiss, and he does tease, and he does look at Jude when he's performing the sweatier chores. Jude knows there isn't any lack of want from either of them.

He doesn't even think he could blank out or fall over enough times to change that, and he doesn't feel like either is going to happen right now. They're full of good food, hot tea, a little high on each other's company. Getting this right is an evolving process, and they've gotten this far.

Jude steps over the cushions and blankets between the hearth and the couch, pushed back only enough to avoid catching on a pop and spark. What that means for them, he doesn't know, just that he's being led by the hand and he wants--more of that, even if he just winds up playing with Bodhi's hair all night.

Bodhi has no intention of rewarding Jude with nothing more than hair petting after tonight, or after all the months behind them, either. He doesn't have any firm finish line he's looking at, because that's a good way to mess up and be disappointed, but he is determined to make sure Jude enjoys it. Maybe even enjoys it and doesn't worry. He owes his handsome artist that much.

He leads the way by half a step, taking Jude's hand and, after a moment's debate, guiding it to his shoulder, very carefully, fingers just at the top, palm to the hollow below his collarbone. He's had to develop a decent sense of when he's going to react badly, and this won't do it. This doesn't feel like restraint.

He leaves Jude's other hand free for balance purposes, since his next move is to nudge him onto the couch. Falling is never romantic. He's done it enough times. He follows Jude down as evenly as he can, winding up on his knees at a slightly odd angle but content to be clumsy if it works. He's not quite ready to climb into Jude's lap, though as an option that's in no way off the table. Later. It's only when he's got them situated he catches Jude's other hand and brings it to his hair. This should feel weird, but he likes it too much.

"Like that?" He's still Bodhi. Still needs to be sure he isn't overstepping.

His fingers curl at Bodhi's collar, not even a grip--just the tips turned in more paw than hand where it's been put. They open again as Bodhi leads him back onto the couch, find the proper hold. Not pushing him away or pulling him in, just his hand there. Fingertips just-so to the line of his shoulder, thumb exploring up the implied line between throat and the dip before his sternum.

Somehow, he can't take his attention from his face, even if his eyes still drop and he still looks up through his hair at times. It's too important to know if something changes, and there's anticipation, too. He likes being made to sit on the couch, legs sprawled, Bodhi somehow on a knee between them, hovering at the edge of the couch. With Jude's hands on him, and the simple possiblity that he might come closer. Jude likes Bodhi over him in a way he articulates with a quick wetting of his lips, and a drop of his gaze before it seems inexorably drawn back to the sight.

Bodhi doesn't push, not in the usual sense of the word, but Jude likes what he does. Bodhi likes what he does, what he's doing: he holds that in his head. Bodhi put him here because he wanted to. His hand is in Bodhi's hair because Bodhi put it there.

"Yes," he says, voice wrung closer to hoarse than deep. "Just like that." He doesn't drag Bodhi in by the hair to kiss him, but a tightness in his chest hopes that Bodhi will lean down. His hand smooths over the soft growth on the sides of Bodhi's head, and he threads his fingers through the longer hair, stroking, while the only moving part of his other hand is the thumb, doing the same at his throat.

Bodhi watches back. There's a little anxiety buried in there, but it's finally mostly for the fun of looking, watching anticipation chase blushes over those startling cheekbones, catching the darkness in deep eyes and liking what he sees there, the hint of a shine to the lips. He's doing something right, finally.

He closes his eyes a moment, just to enjoy Jude's voice washing over him. Jude can't possibly know how good that sounds. He could set his heartbeat to the growl alone, but hearing yes in that tone is blissful.

The movement of Jude's fingers tempts him to stay like this and bask for a bit. He put Jude's hands exactly where he wanted them. Not where he could stand them. Wanted. He suspects there are things, ordinary, nice things he'll never be able to enjoy fully, never want to be held tight or playfully manhandled a bit, but finally he can give himself over to the sweet, electric pleasure of fingertips on his scalp. His breath hitches a bit, no more. Bodhi learned quiet for times like this, and it's hard to unlearn because he's not stealing a moment in the academy or a crammed spaceport for once.

It's a short hesitation. Jude's his focus. He wants to pick up where he left off, at first, but just looking down at him (looking down at him is nice) seems to call for something a little more momentous than just nibbling below his ear again. ...That will come. Bodhi sets a hand along Jude's jaw and just looks at him for a moment, envying the artist's eyes, and kisses him. Deep, by their standards, tipping Jude's chin up and teasing with his tongue right away. It's still an invitation, a gentle probing. Still Bodhi--his other hand's on the back of the couch for balance instead of dragging them in close. But he can't not with Jude looking that good.

He focuses on Bodhi's hair. Jude knows better than to tug him in, even if his thighs shift and make space, even if his elbows are loose to let Bodhi move. All he can do is invite, all he can do is look at Bodhi with the truth on his face. That he's embarrassed, and pleased, and just--here. He's really here, and his hands will go anywhere, do anything Bodhi wants of them.

Bodhi does lean in for the kiss, and that's more than enough. Jude tilts his chin for that hand, opens for Bodhi's tongue and nudges in to kiss him back. His hand starts and stops in Bodhi's hair, remembering what he's allowed, forgetting to do anything but hold the side of his head and brace on is collar and be kissed. He makes a noise, and the noise and the feeling behind it are the hot winds of those first summer days, air rising out of the sun-baked canyon.

He touches Bodhi's hair every way he knows how, compensating. The pads of rough fingers smoothing through, then the tips winged in and his nails combing strands apart. He doesn't shift his grip to steady Bodhi on the couch, or sling an arm around his waist to pull him in. He doesn't kiss him, doesn't tilt his head to carry along his jaw or down his throat--just kisses him back, letting Bodhi tilt and turn his head, letting it press to the back of the couch and sit by his other hand.

Someday he'll understand, that in not letting himself do these things, the sentiment is the same as if he had.

Jude's patience pays off as it always does. Bodhi just kisses for a bit, more at his ease, more daring as moment go on. This is the first moment he's realized it, but it's been years since he had anyone to touch like this. The way he broke in Saw's dungeons contributed, sure, but it was a rough time in his life before that. Jude's fingers, Jude's mouth, it's cool water in a drought, for all he didn't realize he was fading for lack of it. The rush of sensation, now that he can finally feel it, is dizzying, is almost too much, just this side of bearable. He shudders before he even moves in closer, a rattle in his bony frame that feels bone deep, and Jude finally gets a throaty gasp out of him, a sound almost voiced.

He doesn't forget the new rule. Jude's hands are his. Not thinking clearly enough to question how he constructed that thought, he catches the one on his shoulder and covers it with his own, dragging it down slowly to his side. Jude's held him there a few times and he wants the closeness, just... He's careful, just like before, setting the hand too far inward to make him feel held down. As he moves Jude's hand he moves in, undeniably in Jude's lap now if still at an odd angle.

He leaves Jude's mouth like he has to drag himself away, slow and lingering, chasing kisses lazily until he finally nudges Jude's chin and ducks his head in. He could pick up where he left off, but first, he whirls his tongue along the shell of Jude's ear and catches the earlobe between his lips.

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.

Bodhi interprets Jude's reaction more positively than is perhaps accurate--noisy and squirming usually means good, and he likes this one himself. It's a bit of myopia on his part, since he's more overwhelmed than pleased by a lot of intense sensations, but he's learned to chase noise and squirming. He'll try that again but, perhaps fortunately for Jude, not now. Tonight seems made to try things out and he doesn't want to get stuck on any one trick.

And besides, Jude's neck is right there, easy to slip down to. He kisses gently and lingeringly, the flutter of Jude's pulse light under his lips. They're as close as they've ever been and all evidence points to Jude liking him there. No need to push hard. He takes his time, slow, deep kisses down from the ear, a sweep of his tongue back up, a quick nuzzle under Jude's chin. Exploring, learning, teasing sweet and slow.

Belatedly he remembers Jude's hands again. He likes where they are now, actually, but he needs to be in the habit of thinking if this is going to work. He runs his fingers over the back of the hand at his side, encouraging and petting.

Gentle, sweet, and smooth is how he likes this best, but he is capable of the occasional wicked impulse now that he's a bit more confident. He noses down to a spot just where neck meets shoulder where, he's sure, Jude's collar will cover any evidence, and tries a nibble with a little more nip to it, watching closely for reactions. He's sure that pale skin will mark up easy.

Jude stops thinking about if he gets hard--doesn't even get to when. He isn't thinking much at all through the smear and press of Bodhi's mouth. It's soft, attentive, squeezing sighs and low murmurs out of his throat. A lot of those murmurs are just Bodhi's name, breathed, neither question nor comment. They contribute, keep him pinned in the buildup, but it's Bodhi's fingers brushing his chapped knuckles that gets to him.

The sound he makes grinds until it puffs in a soft oh, his grip spasming at Bodhi's side. He doesn't know why. Bodhi holds his hand all the time, and he likes that. And he likes Bodhi's soft attention, and somehow the combination of the two is more than either on their own.

When Bodhi follows that with a proper, sucking kiss at the edge of his collar, Jude makes another grinding sound in his throat. His fingers tangle and close in Bodhi's hair, and he does squirm, at least in his slow and deep-breathing way. He tightens up, he relaxes, but he does what he can not to move. There's no desire to dislodge Bodhi, to get away, the sensation just sweeps down from his shoulders through his legs.

"Bodhi," he says again, but almost properly. He's thinking again, enough to want something, and to want to ask first. "Should I--do you want me to take my shirt off?"

He's been a sucker for that voice, oh, almost certainly all along. He couldn't pinpoint a particular moment--he was completely in the middle of this long before he realized it had begun. But Jude's low growl is definitely high on the (very long) list of what makes him stammer like a teenager and cuddle up like a needy puppy. Most of the time. That voice just barely speaking his name like that, though, that's smoky whiskey and cold desert sunlight pouring straight into his brain.

It's enough (and tonight is enough, and all the efforts behind them are enough) that he doesn't react at all to the fingers rougher in his hair, the tightening hand at his side. Small things. Meaningless, not quite as nice as they should be, but not getting in his way, either. Not a danger. Just his Jude.

He looks up reluctantly, noting the smudgy hint of his activities that's all he can see in the firelight. Bodhi can't even be rough enough to raise much of a hickey, but it's there, and he'll know it. He runs his thumb lightly over the spot and smiles smugly as he looks Jude in the eye. (There's his name again.) "I mean, um, I'd kind of rather do it for you, but if you want." He's teasing, but he's also watching, in case Jude would rather.

"Oh." That hadn't occured to him--that Bodhi might have something of an agenda, that it would include taking off his clothes. It doesn't quite burn him up, except that it is Bodhi, it is--he's different, from everyone before. In his way, he puts Jude where he wants him, and he scrapes that beard over his throat, and he talks about life like a thing he's really lived. He talks about school like a thing behind him. Everything's behind them, here, but Bodhi's seen more of it. He's seen other galaxies.

Maybe the things Jude has seen won't even rank. Maybe the things he's done won't either.

It doesn't feel like a bad thing, even as he tries to navigate--this. Trying to navigate it involves a lot of sitting, stupid, color cutting all of his curves and angles under the fire's glow. He looks at Bodhi, then looks down--not to look at his shirt sweeping down his front in its wrinkled folds, just to look down. His hands have loosened their holds, and he absently pets the hair back into place at the back of Bodhi's head. He never meant to pull.

"Whenever you want, you can--I'd rather you do it."

This quiet feels off. Bodhi thought they were bantering, but apparently not exactly. He could just reach for the hem of Jude's shirt and pull, but this stop isn't encouraging. If nothing else, quick check in seems to be called for. He slows down and kisses Jude's cheek, trying not to frown and puzzle out what he might have done wrong there.

He doesn't have anything like an agenda. Clothes off just seemed like the next logical step, the next bit in the script everyone else knows how to follow and he's learned to fake, and taking them off for him struck Bodhi as more fun than just stripping. No rushing when he's unsure. And if he's over-reacting, well, better that than the alternative. "...You sure?" Hoping to catch his eye, but completely willing not to. Eye contact. Funny stuff.

It's hardly thrown Jude in a bad way, hardly thrown him--he means what he says. He always means what he says, and when he doesn't, he hardly speaks. When his eyes lift, it's curiosity, doubt for doubt. With anyone else, or in different context, he might mutter I said it didn't I, but he likes that he's a softer version of himself for Bodhi.

Usually steadier, too, but he's still learning how to do this.

"Yeah, I'm sure." He combs his fingers through Bodhi's hair, focuses on doing that until it calms him back to the start. Trying to picture anything from outside his own head isn't his strong suit, but when he does: "I'm not--I don't want to rush anything." The other side of the coin, wanting Bodhi to have some idea of what he wants, what's allowed--doesn't occur to him to say.

Alright, he overreacted. He'd still prefer that to the other obvious possibility, and he feels a bit better for the check-in in general. The romantic way to do it is to just be swept away, and tonight he feels pretty thoroughly swept, sure. He'd still like to be certain about the important stuff.

And a slowed-down, softened Jude is kind of nice.

He nods slowly. Not rushing is something he's been known to take to extremes, but at least Jude seems okay with that, as they stand. Admittedly, Jude is okay with pretty much everything that isn't physically painful and many things that are, if only to save himself the trouble. It can be hard to get a read. So he just... doesn't rush. He catches the hem of Jude's shirt with the ends of curled fingertips and hikes it up, exposing a few inches of pale skin and letting his hand rest there a moment, admiring the view hungrily. One of the many advantages to not rushing. A small moment like that has time to hit him and be enjoyed for all it's worth. He smiles crookedly and kisses Jude with a mock-chastity that echoes his usual habits. More in a minute.

Jude takes the kiss with a bit of a blink, somewhere between fuzzy and blank. He's always a little blank, externally, when he stops moving. Concerned as he is with the visual, he never thinks to present much on the outside--mood, thought, basic presence. His most direct and present attention is always for the subject of a drawing, and little else.

His present attention for Bodhi is always a little askance, a little hidden. To see him so attentive himself, to something like a strip of Jude's skin--

Well, the blankness is only a little for internal thought. It's a lot for the ability to relax, secure in the idea that Bodhi does want him. This will go--as far as Bodhi wants it to, and that might be further than Jude let himself imagine. Moving returns Jude to the moment, like he's come back into his body to involve it in the scene. The hand at the back of Bodhi's head goes from combing its fingers to petting, cupping the curve with the hair smoothed beneath it, and he leans part of the way with his head tilted to accommodate. Without pulling Bodhi in, without speaking, he asks for another kiss.

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