[And Mike moves, tenses with every touch, when the speed of Chuck's hand changes just at a curve or plane. He breathes deep, leans into Chuck's ear, presses his lips to the skin right in front of it. He drags them just below his eye, down his nose, stopping short at his lips, raising his head just a little. The wrinkles under his eyes deepening as he looks at him fondly. He reciprocates, obviously he does, hand sliding down in an equal manner, turning towards his stomach, thumb finding the empty space between Chuck's [his] shirt and his bellybutton and pressing, as if it's a surface made to fit his hand onto.] Keep going...
[It's a breath that he's just unable to hold back, as he curiously explores the feeling of Chuck's hand on him, his own on Chuck, when their fingers have a mission even as they wander aimlessly. He slips his own under the hiked hem of his shirt, across the light hair dusting on his navel, curling them around his hip.]
no subject
[It's a breath that he's just unable to hold back, as he curiously explores the feeling of Chuck's hand on him, his own on Chuck, when their fingers have a mission even as they wander aimlessly. He slips his own under the hiked hem of his shirt, across the light hair dusting on his navel, curling them around his hip.]