[Mike turns to bite lightly at Chuck's fingers, grinning. He dislikes the whisper of fresh air that immediately slips between them when a bit of their bodies disconnect, but he figures that he can reach for that warmth soon enough, so he slides his hand lower to rest it on Chuck's side, where he could move a bit more, but still not let go of him.
There's a bit of playful wryness on his lips as he talks in a low tone.] Would be a waste.
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There's a bit of playful wryness on his lips as he talks in a low tone.] Would be a waste.