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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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.

Oh, he's good. And Bodhi is getting better at reading, too. He's drawn in without thinking about it, pulled to Jude by something akin to gravity. His need for control is real, but he's not actually all that good at it. Any sign from Jude as to what he wants from this is welcome. He kisses slowly, as he does almost everything slowly at this point, but he's emboldened now that they've done this a few times. He hardly has to worry about whether Jude wants him to kiss a bit deeper at this point.

It's a good thing that it feels more natural, since more of his attention is on sliding his hand up Jude's side, pushing the hem of his shirt up along with it, palm soaking up the tantalizing heat of his skin and fingers trailing lightly. Teasingly, if he's being honest. He might be learning to relax into kissing, but tonight is full of thrilling little firsts. Skin to skin, even as little as this, is just... different.

What must sound like a reaction to the touch is as much for the kiss; Jude hums as it deepens, and even that is just deeper, more muffled gravel. He likes to kiss, the way Bodhi tastes is only a hint of what was in his bowl, diluted further by tea--and he likes how much longer they last. One can lead directly into the next, and with the draw of Bodhi's hand over his side, he forgets to hold back those small, encouraging sounds.

He wonders if this is what he's meant to do with the hand at Bodhi's side, if he should do more than leave it sitting there, soaking up the warmth through his shirt. He'd never be so bold as to lift the hem, but his hand has strayed low enough to curl his fingers at its edge, gathering a fold to hold onto, leaving his knuckles against the rise of Bodhi's hip.

Every sound out of Jude is hot and encouraging. And, more importantly, reassuring. Still doing good. So he's insecure. If reassurance can come along with a soft growl that seems to sneak up and down his spine, all the better. He tends unconsciusly toward quiet himself, though, not letting slip much but a sharp inhale at the little brush of fingers.

He's suddenly glad he took the time to lose a few layers before they settled in.

Reluctantly he straightens a little, feels his eyes catch on Jude's mouth for a second before he remembers how to talk. He leaves his hand where it is, doesn't try too hard to keep his gaze off the newly revealed stretch of pale skin. "Y-you can, um, it's fine. Catch is here." He tips his head and pushes the hair away to reveal the little clasp behind his neck.

It certainly makes things easier, not having to coax him out of the scarves, though Jude likes to kiss him under the weight of the hood, has always liked the look of Bodhi in his favorite clothes. It's hard to just look, this close.

Maybe it's time to do more than look, with Bodhi guiding his hands, offering the clasp instead of shying from or tolerating the touch.

When Jude reaches for the clasp, he first reaches for Bodhi's hand, feeling out the curve of knuckles, briefly closing his fingers around in a wordless little hello of a squeeze. His mouth has nothing to say, but his hands do, going from hand to hair, his head tilting to look at the difference of Bodhi with his hair combed over to one side by Jude's hand. Just a little smile for it, a little divergence, before he pushes the clasp open in a motion like snapping his fingers, very slowly, and tests two fingers against the skin immediately inside.

He'd like to stop thinking about the risks, but if he does that, there's a nonzero chance he'll ruin things. So he stays aware. This is a little closer than is completely safe, maybe, guiding Jude's hands like this. There's that possibility that his stupid brain will read it as confinement, being held down, and then--But no, it won't, because he chose this, and it's Jude, and Jude's safe. Hand and hair are comforting, familiar by now, and with that in mind, Jude's fingers are the least little thing.

A good thing, though. Bodhi gives up the uncharacteristically steady eye contact he's been holding and lets his eyes slide closed instead, lets Jude have a look at him. That's a different struggle than getting to where he could have soft hands on him and not panic, older insecurities that may not be dangerous but have their own sort of power. Showering Jude with attention is so much easier than accepting a bit himself. He lets out a long, slightly shivering breath, and thinks about Jude's hand and not about being looked at. It's alright.

His eyes open again and he leans in a bit, leaving space, but catching Jude's chin in his hands and running his thumb over the lower lip. A little control back, that's all. He's fine.

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.

Bodhi just watches Jude melt for a bit. Still learning each other like this, he doesn't get a hint of what Jude wants in particular, just drinks in the view. He's loath to disrupt anything his eyes catch on, from bright hooded eyes to the tantalizing expanse of skin revealed where he's pulled up the hem on Jude's shirt. He doesn't want to give up those sweet points of contact, either. He would be perfectly happy if Jude's hands stayed right where they are, a warm, solid connection, but he's going to have to do a little maneuvering here.

The idea of undressing someone is always appealing, but some of the logistical bits are just a bit annoying. He kisses Jude quick and messy and leans back a little to pull his shirt off entirely. There's more annoying squirming so no one gets knocked over (alright, so Bodhi doesn't get knocked over, as he's both the klutz and the one awkwardly kneeling rather than sinking into the couch), but the payoff is worth it.

He won't mind if Jude does eventually return the favor, but he's glad this was first. It's not like it's a surprise how good Jude looks shirtless, but there's just a bit of vulnerability there. Not rational, still delicious. He forgets to put Jude's hands back at first, taking a moment to just stare.

The kiss presses him back against the couch, distracts him from the work of tugging away his shirt, so the moment seems to pass without him. He's clothes and holding onto Bodhi, then he isn't, and his hands hover at their last places--equally concerned for Bodhi's staying upright. He's only a little chilly, the fire still heating the room, but he's only managed to wake up with Bodhi curled against him: it's harder to achieve in waking hours.

He doesn't know if it makes any difference, Bodhi holding him instead of the other way around. Maybe it's the contact in general.

Jude swallows, missing him in the moment more than he feels self conscious. When it was warmer he'd toss his shirt aside and chop wood while Bodhi pretended to check on the drying paper sheets; he's used to this from a distance. Anyone who's lived here long enough is probably on the skinny side, but he's glad to have chopped wood all summer and fall before this point. He sets his hands back where they were, but on the hems of Bodhi's shirt more than his skin. "Should I--" he asks, hesitating, not wanting to mind in the least if Bodhi draws the line here.

Bodhi makes an affirming noise after a pause, a cop-out he hopes sounds casual to cover for the fact that he doesn't think he knows the right words for... Permission? That's a transactional way to think about it, and maybe there's no avoiding that. He's the reason everything feels like rules and exchanges, and it's a little disturbing how much he's enjoying it. Sure, maybe intimacy like this is easier now because he's older than the last few times he tried, because he's got a better sense of proportion, but he can't shake the sense that he really likes deciding every little thing that happens.

So yes, Jude can undress him a bit, and he's not nearly as self conscious as he was afraid of being. He may never be confident about being seen, exactly, but having chosen makes it a little better.

He scoots back, and it has to be carefully this time, and therefore gracelessly. Because otherwise he really is going to fall off the couch. It's okay, though, because it improves his view even more. Yeah, wood chopping pays off. He forgets what he just agreed to for a moment, running fingertips over the curve of Jude's bicep with a crooked smile and riveted eyes.

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.

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