[And that doesn't escape from his gaze, he watches closely, notices how the shadows deepen when Chuck's shoulders angle higher, how his lips glisten in the dim light at the sudden dart of his tongue.
He barely bites his own, just tugging at the inner skin of his mouth as his eyelids lower.
Because Chuck doesn't seem to mind this, even if he's tensing and he's coiling in himself. Even if all of the sudden the air between them has thinned and Mike needs to remind himself to breathe a bit deeper.
The thought "I can't do this" doesn't run in his mind. It's that it doesn't that he's amazed at. So he can, and he will, as he shifts his weight onto a shoulder, reaching to where Chuck's hands are clasped, eyes wide.
"Are you having trouble breathing, too?" he silently asks.]
[His knuckles flex under Mike's touch, and Chuck feels the hairs up his arms and at the back of his neck raise and tickle, responding to something, a heat wave, or Mike's warmth spreading through touch or the mere breath that Chuck feels settling against his lips.
He inhales, quick but quiet, and holds it back, like he holds back his hands and the need he has right now to reach for arms, shoulders, for all of Mike and pull him even closer. He lets it out eventually, in one long hot shaky breath, and he can tell it's hot because it hits against Mike's mouth and chin and reflects, still between the both of them as if encased in that small space.
He doesn't even notice the corners of his own mouth twitching upwards, just barely; he drops his eyelids too, and the answer to that question is obvious in the way his chest heaves under his hands.]
[It's impossible not to reply back in the same way, in a light quirk of Mike's lips. It's almost empathic, the way they relate, the way they connect to most things, to each other. It's always been this way, ever since the first time they met, instantly clicking no matter their evident differences. His hand over Chuck's looks even darker against the paleness of his skin, and yet he finds he likes the sight of it.
It's as if he knows what Chuck is thinking. Which he doesn't, but once again, what they've wanted ends up crossing, over and over, braiding every now and then despite how far the tangent goes. He wraps his fingers over Chuck's wrist, pulls it gently, takes it to his own chest.
Mike has never been the type to think thoroughly: that was up to Chuck, most of the time. So he doesn't find it odd that he's doing something objectively random. He's just doing what his gut is telling him to and Mike really wants Chuck to touch him.]
[Most of the time is a good way to put it. Chuck finds that, whenever he's about to work it all up too much in his head, when his brain concocts the most insane outcomes and by then they're so far off the mark that he's not even sure what they're trying to accomplish anymore, it's when Mike reaches and touches him, anchors him down to reality (which is funny, because Mike's sense of 'reality' was always a little skewed and inconsequent as far as Chuck could tell) that Chuck snaps out of his unpleasant kind of reverie, and it gets him to focus on the real things, the ones that don't need thinking at all. On the fact that he'll do whatever it takes to help his friends, to help Motorcity, regardless of how terrifying those odds could be.
The next breath comes with a small hiss, and Chuck almost says Mike's name, but it dies out in the first letter. Mike wants Chuck to touch him, and it turns out to be a compromise, because touching Mike was all Chuck was thinking about ever since he could feel Mike's scent travel up his nose and glue itself against Chuck's brain, with an apparent promise to never leave.
He stretches his hand out, palm pressing over the shirt and sliding upwards just enough that the tips of his fingers are touching the hot skin exposed right over the collarbone of Mike's shirt.]
[He breathes in and the motion makes his chest rise - or drop, considering his position - following Chuck's hand. He can feel calluses on his skin, barely there but there nonetheless, and the motion of his lungs falls shorter than he intended, hitching at the end, exhaling deep right afterwards.
He lets his thumb brush his wrist once, tells him it's alright, even if his eyes are curiously observing all the little nuances in expression running across Chuck's face, even as he drops his hand back onto Chuck's chest. He's intently leaving it several centimeters lower, right at the beginning of his stomach, fingertips touching at his ribs. Right now, he's so curious about all of this, about this new proximity they've somehow broke into without knowing where they were going anyway. And it's so new to him and to Chuck that he finds himself wanting to know everything that they can draw out from this new stage, from each other.
Whatever that means. At the surface of his mind, Mike's only thinking he wants to watch and feel Chuck a little more.]
[As far as proximity goes, they'd been closer before. He'd clung tight to Mike, whether in fear or relief, and sometimes when they fell asleep together he'd wake up, arms wrapped around him, sometimes a little too tight. Something would linger back then, an itch or a tingle, but either him or Mike, whoever woke up first, would slip out of the hold before he could give himself the chance to try to scratch it out of him. And most times they were yanked awake by the alarms firing off anyway - those times he had no time to even remember that feeling.
This is different, though, but at the same time all too familiar. Mike's hand burns through the fabric of his shirt, and leaves an imprint against the skin, Chuck is sure of that. The muscles twitch and tense at the touch, and he sighs audibly, his legs shifting and the rest of his body moving only barely, half a centimeter if so much, closer to Mike's touch. He rests his other hand on Mike's other shoulder, only riding farther up, his cold fingers feeling the warmth of Mike's skin that covers the exposed neck, his thumb settling in the curve of Mike's jaw just underneath his ear.
He feels hot to the touch, Chuck realizes. Especially because, unlike his face, Chuck's hands are cold and the contrast makes it all the more noticeable. He shivers, and he looks up into Mike's eyes again, this time actually managing to murmur something. Even if coherence could be argued.] Mike...
[He's smiling. Of course he's smiling. He smiles as he swallows, mouth that had been parted closing for a second, opening again to let out yet another breath. He smiles as he turns into the touch on his neck, hunching his shoulder just lightly, as if to rub the underside of his jaw against the side of Chuck's thumb. ] Your hands are freezing.
[He doesn't mind it, though. It's the one thing about the whole situation. He doesn't mind it at all. He probably never would, had this type of thought crossed his mind. In fact, he has a reason to smile, and that's because he likes it: he likes that goosebumps are running down his spine and back up to the back of his head. He likes that Chuck's moving, moving into him, and at the mere lean of a centimeter, he moves back against him, letting half of his weight fall down, press his legs into the space between Chuck's, the hairs on their legs scratching lightly. This is a position they're familiar with, after and during playful wrestles or plain scuffles, but not with the pressure of the air surrounding them so heavy, almost damp enough that they're able to taste the remains of it resting on their parted lips with a quick swipe of their tongues.
He smiles, and nuzzles Chuck's nose again. Just once. Doing it twice would be to have to draw back from the first after all.]
[Chuck blinks at the comment, and matches Mike's smile with one of his own, a tiny muffled chuckle breathed out into the almost inexistent space that lies between.]
Yeah, I... [He has to stop, to lick his own lips, clear his throat and swallow dry, then he finishes that thought.] I don't really know why.
[He doesn't, and he can't figure out any logic to it, because the rest of his body, every other inch feels like it's on fire, every cell burning and making his nerve endings feel everything that touches him with a tenfold intensity. So when Mike's weight shifts and falls on him, the pressure and the tingling feeling travelling up his legs causes his whole body to tense and shiver. He closes his eyes, parts his mouth wider and leans closer, chin tilting upwards until his lips are resting against Mike, not sure exactly where they're touching, just that it's somewhere close to Mike's own lips, and he lets out a muffled sound with a hot exhale.]
[He's so attentive to the way Chuck's skin sounds when it rustles against Mike's clothes that he's barely aware that he let out a sound. He only notices at the half-second his throat closes in in the remains of his voice, and he has a vague idea that it may have been a groan against Chuck's cheek. He only has a vague idea that his hand slid up the center of his chest, and that the restlessness wrapping around his thighs and the small of his back is nothing but a latent sense of arousal. Chuck's pliant and wiry underneath him and he feels like he's almost laying in electricity, that he'll be shocked if he moves too much, digs too deep, and that's the only reason he hasn't brought his full weight down: because his hand needs room, and so does Chuck, usually, to take his own very steps to fall right next to Mike, and because he's suddenly hyper aware of every cell of his skin that touches Chuck's, every cell that doesn't but still feels the warmth emanating from his body, and every cell that doesn't.
He moves his head lower, to the skin right below his temple, nuzzles and presses his lips there. It's playful, this time, just a lot of rubbing with his nose, grins against his face.
Because, as usual, the one reason to make Chuck take these steps would be the connection that they share, and the happiness and laughter that they try to achieve, no matter their conditions, no matter their state.]
[Except Chuck's waiting too, waiting for Mike to make a move first, to do something. That's how it usually goes, Mike takes lead, he jumps head first into anything, sometimes literally, and Chuck follows along, or tries to at least, tries to keep up with whatever insane rhythm Mike sets, all screams, limbs, flails and clings around Mike's neck or waist.
Usually.
But this hesitance, from the both of them but honestly, mostly the one on Mike's end, makes Chuck realize, eventually, that this is an exception to that. Why wouldn't it be anyway? If anything he always figured the way Mike behaved so recklessly sometimes was only because he knew he would be able to keep everyone - Chuck - safe. But in this small space, Mike hesitates almost as much, if not more than Chuck, as if he's waiting for a green light, or a word, a request, or some kind of permission. With each second Chuck finds an impatience in him that he didn't know he had, and it builds up slowly until his fingers are pressing and curling over Mike's shirt and skin, legs shifting slightly upwards, then moving to snake an arm around his neck, wrapping tightly enough that there's no other choice for Mike but to move closer, press down fully.]
[And he gets no resistance. It's fluid, how Mike follows, body flattening against Chuck's, moving where bone met bone until it settles into comfort, or complete discomfort in which Mike's brain keeps chanting soclosesoclosesoclose and he's really so close that he can't even tell if he's pressing his lip to his cheek or to his chin, if he's moving to get more friction or to land into stillness, if he's gasping Chuck's name or merely breathing.
Placing his elbow on the pillow beside, he tucks Chuck's head against his forearm, fingers slipping through his hair and pressing on the scalp. Sometimes, when Chuck takes the lead, it doesn't really surprise him. It doesn't really shock him like most, it only makes Mike happy, glad to follow along. He admires him just that much, is so confident of the programmers potential, that even when he did a very abnormal switch in personality, he didn't even blink. He only just saw what was mostly hidden from other people's view, out there in the open. And because most of those moments, it meant that Chuck is really driven and happy, he welcomed each and every one. This was no exception.
Hand curled around Chuck's one side and his other holding on to the other side of his head, he pinches his shoulder blades together to hold him tight, digs his nose underneath his jaw, mouth grazing along the grove of it and sliding lower, feet very distractedly shifting against Chuck's.]
[Chuck responds to that foot by shifting his own back against, toes curling and wiggling as he rides one leg farther up, the plant of his foot sliding over the back of Mike's leg. He whimpers, or gasps, ends up giggling a little at everything Mike's doing - the way his fingers run through his scalp sending a bolt down to the base of his spine, and how Mike's lips roaming across Chuck's skin make his muscles tense and release, his hand travelling a little down Mike's back and fisting the shirt, curling his fingers around Mike's arm with the other.
He rests his head back on the pillow, tilts it even more backwards, breathing out deeply and closing his eyes, still grinning and snorting a little, even if it sounds more eager and horny than anything else.] That tickles.
[And the word is random, but accurate - 'that' because everything is tickling Chuck right now, in one or way or another, Mike's breath, or the shift of his hips, even the air that changes around with Mike every time he makes a move, insignificant as it may seem.]
[There's a small moment in which Mike draws back by a mere inch, mouth still parted and chin brushing against the damp skin, eyes wide trying to look at Chuck's face and failing, just stuck on the arch of his neck, the curve from neck to jaw. The sound of his laughter and his voice like that made him freeze for a second, just assessing the reaction he's having to it.
To have Chuck sound like that was...
Well, he definitely didn't know. Whatever everything that held him to anything resembling logic, it was long gone. Whatever was still making him stop and hesitate, it vanished in a cloud of dust and gravel. He has a hunch that they're both jumping into what could be a mess, but with Chuck lazily telling him that it tickles like only made Mike want to dive head-first.
He grins, pulls his weight up, back arching, nipping at Chuck's chin before facing him, pulling his hair back away from his face, and nipping at his nose once again.] Yeah it does.
[Chuck tilts his head down when Mike moves, opening his eyes and looking back at him as he arches over him, Mike's body moving farther from him but face leaning closer. He smiles, a little misplaced sheepishness and some expected embarrassment to it, but...
It's not enough that it'd make him want to move away, just closer, his hand sliding up from Mike's arm to rest on the curve of his neck and resting over the collarbone. And then he glances sideways a little in spite of himself, focusing on the visible arch of Mike's ear, or the curve of his jaw.] I wasn't complaining or anything.
I know. [He moves enough to get back into Chuck's line of sight, raising the hand on his side up to below his arm, kneading there just enough to make it tickle for a bit, and then slide away back to center, up Chuck's collarbone and neck, wrapping there.
He can't really focus. His eyes dart from Chuck's, to his neck, to the slight blush framing his cheeks, to the motions of his mouth, then back again. He clears his throat.]
[He can't help the smile from turning into a lopsided grin, and he would look away but he knows Mike would spend all night rearranging himself so that he'd be looking at him instead. Chuck might as well, he's a lot awkward right now but on the other hand it's Mike, and he knows that changes everything. Because either it'll subside and eventually (hopefully sooner rather than later) go away, or he'd let it linger but ignore it as it sat at the edge of the bed. And he's fine with either.]
Well, good. [He bites his own lip a little, and adds in a bit of a flustered hurry.] I mean, it's totally cool if you want to! It's not like. Uh. I'm. You don't have to keep going.
Chuck. [Mike shakes his head, thumbs brushing across the throat of Chuck's throat and through the hairs by his temple. He should know that his insecurity would subside somehow, when he's cooling down a little. He shifts his legs, folds a knee and hikes his body forward with a push from it.
He smiles just a little, almost whispering.] Not a matter of having to.
Edited (thinking one thing, writing another - WAY TO GO) 2013-02-28 23:42 (UTC)
[Chuck's body moves along, arches a little to meet Mike's out of familiarity or instinct, and Chuck mewls from behind closed lips, with a sharp inhale afterwards.]
Mm-hm. [He manages, shaking his head in affirmation at the same time. He looks up at Mike and moves his hand up to trace his fingers through his hair, a little surprised at how soft it feels to the touch.]
[A smile, turning into a grin when Chuck's fingers slip through his hair and just answers with a hum. It's the confirmation that he needs, or would have needed if he didn't know Chuck well enough [what would definitely make no sense in this context], that it's not a matter of having to, just something they want to do. Regardless of how they should be used to this type of proximity, regardless of what did would take.]
Hmm? [His eyebrows arch, chin jutting, slightly teasing, always playful, even if his body is telling him to rock his hips, sensation trying to override what's important - and barely holding on. Because even though he really wants to grind against Chuck, hard-on sensitive and a little uncomfortable against his thigh, he likes to egg reactions from him, make him comfortable [and sometimes frustrated, I mean, Mike, c'mon] to reach to him, to move, to scream. Because it's okay to do it, because he likes Chuck when he's active, and Mike likes it when Chuck falls into step with him.
[It's a pause, like a stillness that settled between them just now that keeps Chuck from moving for a moment, just feeling his shoulders dig into the mattress underneath him, and Mike's tone, though teasing, so comforting and warm. He looks over Mike's expression again, then closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side so that his cheek rests against Mike's arm.
But it's only for a moment, because just as much as Mike likes to draw any kind of reaction out of him, right now Chuck needs him to move, to touch, to lean down and do something, so with small sounds and shifts of his hands he tries to hint it at him. His other hand leaves Mike's back, crawls up to the shoulder and slides down his chest, fingers pressing a little too much, too eager (or perhaps just the right amount), but very slow, appreciating every twitch and curve of the muscles until he draws it to a halt on the side of Mike's waist.] Nothing.
[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.]
[Mike's lips travel slowly down Chuck's face, but still, and Chuck's pretty sure it's a thing that happens just then, it feels like they leave skidmarks across his skin, like they've just broken a new speed record, just to test a new battery or another change in the gears or a tweak of the engine. Unaware of it, Chuck raises his head to follow Mike when he pulls away, only breaking and opening his eyes when Mike talks.
When Mike tells him to 'keep going', actually, and it almost rings as an order in Chuck's ears, but instead of apprehensiveness or fear, or whatever reactions people have when they're told what to do, Chuck breathes out a loud sigh, or a quiet moan - there isn't much difference, given the context - and he digs his fingers deeper against Mike's side for the fleeting second he manages to hold back from sliding it around, crawling underneath the shirt and pressing his open hand against the bare skin of Mike's navel, lingering there as Chuck tries to focus, tries to think, just a couple of breaths...
But he figures there's no use to thinking right now. It's like Mike's tendency to go with instinct is tacking itself to Chuck by proxy, and Chuck doesn't need seconds or moments anymore, he only needs to ride his hand farther up, fingers exploring the hairs, the curves of the muscles, the edges of some old scar Chuck hadn't even noticed before, hadn't even wanted to reach until that one moment. Something he never knew he wanted - not just the scar; everything.]
[His mouth parts a little wider, yet he doesn't even know what for. Doesn't even know why he'd want to, it's not like he could really come up with much reasonable thought other than an unrelenting mantra of danger and excitement and Chuck and more, much less anything he could say that would sound remotely meaningful.
It wouldn't do much to help press his lips to Chuck's, either, capture them between them and suck on them--
And he's scattered, focus both on his hand, sliding upwards, up to his ribs where his skin stretches further into smoothness and warmth and movement from his breath and heartbeat, on Chuck's, stomach twitching - he was just a little ticklish there, especially when the touch's light - hips rolling just enough to create pressure and motion, egg him on, and his own eyes focused on Chuck's lips and the sounds rolling past them even as he breathes.
He looks up at Chuck's eyes once again, a silent admission on how he's doing, just like he did whenever Chuck dared him to do anything in their [even] younger years, which rapidly became a dare to not do anything because Mike's the one about action before thought. Right before he took the plunge, he would look at him, and his lip would quirk, and he'd say something like "be right back".
Except he won't be right back. The mere dive is the grounding of his presence there, against Chuck, with him.
He tilts his head, kisses him, a mere press of his lips, but he's kissing him. And he sighs, all pressure flowing away from his shoulders along with his breath.]
[He's looking back just then, and Chuck never liked that look, not really, it never failed to give him a dreadful feeling that coiled at the pit of his stomach every single time. Except this time it's a wholly different, brand new feeling, something that twists and turns at the back of something, Chuck's brain or a fraction of his heart, his entire being, claws and swirls its way up Chuck's throat and rolls out of his tongue in a loud noise he's pretty sure is also something else, something new slipping out through his lips, responding to both Mike's hand and the small roll of his hips, along with an eager arch of his own body and a shiver.
But it's all drowned by the engulfing wave it comes when Chuck feels Mike pressing, not his hips or his hands, but his mouth, and considering everything, it shouldn't draw such a reaction out of Chuck, but it does. It does, because Mike's kissing him, and Chuck's brain actually takes more than just a couple of seconds to process that piece of information. But when it does, the pressure of the lips against his own tingles its way across every nerve, seems to give him a kind of fever, and his head swims. He fists his hand on Mike's hair a little, purposelessly but still he leans and presses, parts his lips wider, wants more, his other hand tugging Mike down to come closer to - against - him.]
[It's not the kiss so much, that will come later when he's drowning in the pressure and shadows cast by his own head onto Chuck's face and the warmth of his breaths, making him drunk on the closeness and the brushes of their lips. It's not the kiss so much but what comes right next to it, the immediate acceptance, the fast response and pull that tells him yes and closer. So he complies, swallowing those aimless noises down as he tilts his head further, deeper, even if unknowing and running on mere experimenting and the quick burning fuel that's produced when they're both together. Forces his hand around Chuck, under the weight of his torso, and wraps his arm around him to make him arch further because it wasn't just enough to completely press against him, he wanted him to fit every crook, hold him in the tightest hold, leave no room for air between them and in their lungs. He's far gone, groaning at the tingling in his scalp and even jerking his head away for an inch to feel it again, so that Chuck weaves his fingers through it again. He cups the back of his neck, thumb rubbing right underneath Chuck's ear, where he had been looking at a few moments before.]
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He barely bites his own, just tugging at the inner skin of his mouth as his eyelids lower.
Because Chuck doesn't seem to mind this, even if he's tensing and he's coiling in himself. Even if all of the sudden the air between them has thinned and Mike needs to remind himself to breathe a bit deeper.
The thought "I can't do this" doesn't run in his mind. It's that it doesn't that he's amazed at. So he can, and he will, as he shifts his weight onto a shoulder, reaching to where Chuck's hands are clasped, eyes wide.
"Are you having trouble breathing, too?" he silently asks.]
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He inhales, quick but quiet, and holds it back, like he holds back his hands and the need he has right now to reach for arms, shoulders, for all of Mike and pull him even closer. He lets it out eventually, in one long hot shaky breath, and he can tell it's hot because it hits against Mike's mouth and chin and reflects, still between the both of them as if encased in that small space.
He doesn't even notice the corners of his own mouth twitching upwards, just barely; he drops his eyelids too, and the answer to that question is obvious in the way his chest heaves under his hands.]
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It's as if he knows what Chuck is thinking. Which he doesn't, but once again, what they've wanted ends up crossing, over and over, braiding every now and then despite how far the tangent goes. He wraps his fingers over Chuck's wrist, pulls it gently, takes it to his own chest.
Mike has never been the type to think thoroughly: that was up to Chuck, most of the time. So he doesn't find it odd that he's doing something objectively random. He's just doing what his gut is telling him to and Mike really wants Chuck to touch him.]
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The next breath comes with a small hiss, and Chuck almost says Mike's name, but it dies out in the first letter. Mike wants Chuck to touch him, and it turns out to be a compromise, because touching Mike was all Chuck was thinking about ever since he could feel Mike's scent travel up his nose and glue itself against Chuck's brain, with an apparent promise to never leave.
He stretches his hand out, palm pressing over the shirt and sliding upwards just enough that the tips of his fingers are touching the hot skin exposed right over the collarbone of Mike's shirt.]
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He lets his thumb brush his wrist once, tells him it's alright, even if his eyes are curiously observing all the little nuances in expression running across Chuck's face, even as he drops his hand back onto Chuck's chest. He's intently leaving it several centimeters lower, right at the beginning of his stomach, fingertips touching at his ribs. Right now, he's so curious about all of this, about this new proximity they've somehow broke into without knowing where they were going anyway. And it's so new to him and to Chuck that he finds himself wanting to know everything that they can draw out from this new stage, from each other.
Whatever that means. At the surface of his mind, Mike's only thinking he wants to watch and feel Chuck a little more.]
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This is different, though, but at the same time all too familiar. Mike's hand burns through the fabric of his shirt, and leaves an imprint against the skin, Chuck is sure of that. The muscles twitch and tense at the touch, and he sighs audibly, his legs shifting and the rest of his body moving only barely, half a centimeter if so much, closer to Mike's touch. He rests his other hand on Mike's other shoulder, only riding farther up, his cold fingers feeling the warmth of Mike's skin that covers the exposed neck, his thumb settling in the curve of Mike's jaw just underneath his ear.
He feels hot to the touch, Chuck realizes. Especially because, unlike his face, Chuck's hands are cold and the contrast makes it all the more noticeable. He shivers, and he looks up into Mike's eyes again, this time actually managing to murmur something. Even if coherence could be argued.] Mike...
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[He doesn't mind it, though. It's the one thing about the whole situation. He doesn't mind it at all. He probably never would, had this type of thought crossed his mind. In fact, he has a reason to smile, and that's because he likes it: he likes that goosebumps are running down his spine and back up to the back of his head. He likes that Chuck's moving, moving into him, and at the mere lean of a centimeter, he moves back against him, letting half of his weight fall down, press his legs into the space between Chuck's, the hairs on their legs scratching lightly. This is a position they're familiar with, after and during playful wrestles or plain scuffles, but not with the pressure of the air surrounding them so heavy, almost damp enough that they're able to taste the remains of it resting on their parted lips with a quick swipe of their tongues.
He smiles, and nuzzles Chuck's nose again. Just once. Doing it twice would be to have to draw back from the first after all.]
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Yeah, I... [He has to stop, to lick his own lips, clear his throat and swallow dry, then he finishes that thought.] I don't really know why.
[He doesn't, and he can't figure out any logic to it, because the rest of his body, every other inch feels like it's on fire, every cell burning and making his nerve endings feel everything that touches him with a tenfold intensity. So when Mike's weight shifts and falls on him, the pressure and the tingling feeling travelling up his legs causes his whole body to tense and shiver. He closes his eyes, parts his mouth wider and leans closer, chin tilting upwards until his lips are resting against Mike, not sure exactly where they're touching, just that it's somewhere close to Mike's own lips, and he lets out a muffled sound with a hot exhale.]
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He moves his head lower, to the skin right below his temple, nuzzles and presses his lips there. It's playful, this time, just a lot of rubbing with his nose, grins against his face.
Because, as usual, the one reason to make Chuck take these steps would be the connection that they share, and the happiness and laughter that they try to achieve, no matter their conditions, no matter their state.]
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Usually.
But this hesitance, from the both of them but honestly, mostly the one on Mike's end, makes Chuck realize, eventually, that this is an exception to that. Why wouldn't it be anyway? If anything he always figured the way Mike behaved so recklessly sometimes was only because he knew he would be able to keep everyone - Chuck - safe. But in this small space, Mike hesitates almost as much, if not more than Chuck, as if he's waiting for a green light, or a word, a request, or some kind of permission. With each second Chuck finds an impatience in him that he didn't know he had, and it builds up slowly until his fingers are pressing and curling over Mike's shirt and skin, legs shifting slightly upwards, then moving to snake an arm around his neck, wrapping tightly enough that there's no other choice for Mike but to move closer, press down fully.]
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Placing his elbow on the pillow beside, he tucks Chuck's head against his forearm, fingers slipping through his hair and pressing on the scalp. Sometimes, when Chuck takes the lead, it doesn't really surprise him. It doesn't really shock him like most, it only makes Mike happy, glad to follow along. He admires him just that much, is so confident of the programmers potential, that even when he did a very abnormal switch in personality, he didn't even blink. He only just saw what was mostly hidden from other people's view, out there in the open. And because most of those moments, it meant that Chuck is really driven and happy, he welcomed each and every one. This was no exception.
Hand curled around Chuck's one side and his other holding on to the other side of his head, he pinches his shoulder blades together to hold him tight, digs his nose underneath his jaw, mouth grazing along the grove of it and sliding lower, feet very distractedly shifting against Chuck's.]
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He rests his head back on the pillow, tilts it even more backwards, breathing out deeply and closing his eyes, still grinning and snorting a little, even if it sounds more eager and horny than anything else.] That tickles.
[And the word is random, but accurate - 'that' because everything is tickling Chuck right now, in one or way or another, Mike's breath, or the shift of his hips, even the air that changes around with Mike every time he makes a move, insignificant as it may seem.]
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To have Chuck sound like that was...
Well, he definitely didn't know. Whatever everything that held him to anything resembling logic, it was long gone. Whatever was still making him stop and hesitate, it vanished in a cloud of dust and gravel. He has a hunch that they're both jumping into what could be a mess, but with Chuck lazily telling him that it tickles like only made Mike want to dive head-first.
He grins, pulls his weight up, back arching, nipping at Chuck's chin before facing him, pulling his hair back away from his face, and nipping at his nose once again.] Yeah it does.
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It's not enough that it'd make him want to move away, just closer, his hand sliding up from Mike's arm to rest on the curve of his neck and resting over the collarbone. And then he glances sideways a little in spite of himself, focusing on the visible arch of Mike's ear, or the curve of his jaw.] I wasn't complaining or anything.
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He can't really focus. His eyes dart from Chuck's, to his neck, to the slight blush framing his cheeks, to the motions of his mouth, then back again. He clears his throat.]
I'm not stopping, alright?
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Well, good. [He bites his own lip a little, and adds in a bit of a flustered hurry.] I mean, it's totally cool if you want to! It's not like. Uh. I'm. You don't have to keep going.
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He smiles just a little, almost whispering.] Not a matter of having to.
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Mm-hm. [He manages, shaking his head in affirmation at the same time. He looks up at Mike and moves his hand up to trace his fingers through his hair, a little surprised at how soft it feels to the touch.]
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Hmm? [His eyebrows arch, chin jutting, slightly teasing, always playful, even if his body is telling him to rock his hips, sensation trying to override what's important - and barely holding on. Because even though he really wants to grind against Chuck, hard-on sensitive and a little uncomfortable against his thigh, he likes to egg reactions from him, make him comfortable [and sometimes frustrated, I mean, Mike, c'mon] to reach to him, to move, to scream. Because it's okay to do it, because he likes Chuck when he's active, and Mike likes it when Chuck falls into step with him.
Which is practically all the time.]
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But it's only for a moment, because just as much as Mike likes to draw any kind of reaction out of him, right now Chuck needs him to move, to touch, to lean down and do something, so with small sounds and shifts of his hands he tries to hint it at him. His other hand leaves Mike's back, crawls up to the shoulder and slides down his chest, fingers pressing a little too much, too eager (or perhaps just the right amount), but very slow, appreciating every twitch and curve of the muscles until he draws it to a halt on the side of Mike's waist.] Nothing.
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[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.]
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When Mike tells him to 'keep going', actually, and it almost rings as an order in Chuck's ears, but instead of apprehensiveness or fear, or whatever reactions people have when they're told what to do, Chuck breathes out a loud sigh, or a quiet moan - there isn't much difference, given the context - and he digs his fingers deeper against Mike's side for the fleeting second he manages to hold back from sliding it around, crawling underneath the shirt and pressing his open hand against the bare skin of Mike's navel, lingering there as Chuck tries to focus, tries to think, just a couple of breaths...
But he figures there's no use to thinking right now. It's like Mike's tendency to go with instinct is tacking itself to Chuck by proxy, and Chuck doesn't need seconds or moments anymore, he only needs to ride his hand farther up, fingers exploring the hairs, the curves of the muscles, the edges of some old scar Chuck hadn't even noticed before, hadn't even wanted to reach until that one moment. Something he never knew he wanted - not just the scar; everything.]
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It wouldn't do much to help press his lips to Chuck's, either, capture them between them and suck on them--
And he's scattered, focus both on his hand, sliding upwards, up to his ribs where his skin stretches further into smoothness and warmth and movement from his breath and heartbeat, on Chuck's, stomach twitching - he was just a little ticklish there, especially when the touch's light - hips rolling just enough to create pressure and motion, egg him on, and his own eyes focused on Chuck's lips and the sounds rolling past them even as he breathes.
He looks up at Chuck's eyes once again, a silent admission on how he's doing, just like he did whenever Chuck dared him to do anything in their [even] younger years, which rapidly became a dare to not do anything because Mike's the one about action before thought. Right before he took the plunge, he would look at him, and his lip would quirk, and he'd say something like "be right back".
Except he won't be right back. The mere dive is the grounding of his presence there, against Chuck, with him.
He tilts his head, kisses him, a mere press of his lips, but he's kissing him. And he sighs, all pressure flowing away from his shoulders along with his breath.]
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But it's all drowned by the engulfing wave it comes when Chuck feels Mike pressing, not his hips or his hands, but his mouth, and considering everything, it shouldn't draw such a reaction out of Chuck, but it does. It does, because Mike's kissing him, and Chuck's brain actually takes more than just a couple of seconds to process that piece of information. But when it does, the pressure of the lips against his own tingles its way across every nerve, seems to give him a kind of fever, and his head swims. He fists his hand on Mike's hair a little, purposelessly but still he leans and presses, parts his lips wider, wants more, his other hand tugging Mike down to come closer to - against - him.]
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