[He feels like he has melted, feels like he's very far away from everything, that the only person who can hear the sharp breaths he's taking is Chuck, because all he's focused on is the feel of his hand around him, how his forearm is locked against his back and his fingers clutch around his hip, and every motion is taking him just a little further, or a little closer, or a lot tighter.
When Chuck pulls back, he barely responds, only looks back, and it's enough. It's enough for the hand on his back to raise higher, to clutch at him tighter, move a little faster, until his muscles seize, his breath catches, air stopping in his own lungs, the wrong fuel for that kind of engine, for that kind of surge, heat and nuclear and electrical all at once, or just the moisture of Chuck's breath and his gaze through his hair. It hits him and takes him high, his name broken in his throat as he lets one last exhale, raking through his and making him quiver.]
no subject
When Chuck pulls back, he barely responds, only looks back, and it's enough. It's enough for the hand on his back to raise higher, to clutch at him tighter, move a little faster, until his muscles seize, his breath catches, air stopping in his own lungs, the wrong fuel for that kind of engine, for that kind of surge, heat and nuclear and electrical all at once, or just the moisture of Chuck's breath and his gaze through his hair. It hits him and takes him high, his name broken in his throat as he lets one last exhale, raking through his and making him quiver.]