[He doesn't need to tell Chuck that, he already knows. And he knows at times Texas can be a little inspiring in the most unusual ways.]
Yeah, it was kind of awesome. But lucky it didn't go south. Guess the reinforced body really was a good idea for Stronghorn.
[And it had been Texas's idea too (though not in those words exactly, more in the lines of making it manly, strong and hard on the outside). Go figure.]
[Mike smiles and reaches to ruffle his hair.] You and Dutch did a great job on that, bud.
[It's true. Mike's well-aware that if it weren't for their hard work in continuously making their cars stronger, faster and more efficient, there wouldn't be any Burner left. It's one of the reasons he never gets tired of thanking and complimenting them. He's just that thankful that no matter all the crazy stunts they [he] pull[s], no matter how many times their hard work ends up in a complete wreck, they're still there to build everything all up again, with even better new features.]
Yeah, we... [He smiles, glancing down with a little awkwardness to it, in spite of himself, and no false modesty either. He's well aware of his own genius, but Mike always finds an unexpected way to bring it up, to compliment him out of the blue, that more often than not leaves him at a loss for words.] We were pretty great with that too.
[He doesn't try to swat Mike's hands away, even as he scrunches his nose with a muffled whine. But after Mike's done messing with his hair, he combs it back again. He knows what it'd look like next morning if he'd let it dry like it was.]
[He lets him, relaxed, happy and oh so very comfortable. Letting his hand rest on the spot between their pillows, he sighs deeply, raises his head to turn and watch the bobblehead, which had stopped bobbing. He smiles as he rests back down, facing Chuck again.] Guess Mutt's already asleep.
[He doesn't really want to sleep though. He should, but he's still inwardly thrumming, like a car on hold.]
Figures. She's gotta be more tired than the both of us together.
[He grins at his own joke, and reaches over to pat the bobblehead one last time. It's not difficult to reach, Chuck's arms are long and he barely has to shift from his place to make it.] Good night, puppy.
[Mike can't help but let out a soft guffaw and a stream of laughter. He likes it when Chuck interacts with the bobblehead, mostly because it was something that rubbed off from Mike himself. He pushes half his weight off the mattress to nuzzle Chuck's nose, snickering.] Good night, Chuckles!
[And for old times' sake, he leans in to kiss his cheek. May as well.]
[Chuck lies back, his eyes wrinkled shut, and even though he tenses slightly, he still grins, feeling his hairs rest over the pillow, to both sides of his head. This is good, he knows it's one of the very few times Chuck truly gets to relax, to let everything else go, his brain discarding unimportant information, storing it in a box until the next crisis emerges and he has to dig through it all again, worry himself to exhaustion, until his nerve endings are numb and restless.
He tilts his head just a little, so that he can feel his own nose brushing, first, then pressing against Mike's cheek, and he breathes out any tension he had accumulated in his shoulders for that brief moment just then.] 'night, Mikey.
[Chuck's breath brushes over his ear, and Mike takes his time. He frowns, feeling, more than seeing, the skin surrounding his shoulders, down the triceps to his elbow, making the joint there itch, slowly crawl with goosebumps. It's the shirt, he thinks for a fleeting and foolish second. Something in the conditioner was tampered by Jacob's new concoctions and he was coming with some sort of reaction to it.
He knows it's not, though, because he's focused on how one of Chuck's freckles isn't a freckle but a light mole by his ear. He's never been one to fool himself. He took whatever came to him and rolled with it, even if those were well-aimed punches or...
a sudden need to hold his best friend tight against him for the entirely wrong [wrong? why wrong?] reasons.
He wants to tilt his head and nuzzle him further until his head turns, until he presses fully against him, until he nips at the earlobe that barely peeks from under Chuck's mane--
[At the motionless silence, Chuck opens his eyes. He opens his eyes, and they settle immediately on Mike's, suddenly all too aware of the distance, or lack thereof, between them. They always kept close in many ways, but this was a different kind of physical closeness, a new step in the progressive way they seemed to invade each other's personal space without even thinking about it. And Chuck knows, because he's not that naive or that oblivious, what this distance, and this pause meant. Mike's sudden approach and his breath suddenly settling against his own skin, that quiet hitch that Chuck could swear matched up with the noise his heart makes the exact moment it catches in his throat. And it stops beating - or maybe it's beating too fast, so fast he can't even tell it's still going anymore.
But he doesn't move. His breath shakes its way out of him, and his face burns like a curtain of fire rushing across his skin, but he doesn't move. Whether in a show of fear, courage or pure instinct, maybe all of them mashed together, he doesn't know, but he's there, and it's unaware and at the same time relentless the way he chooses not to move away.
[And he lingers there, breath slipping into his mouth and throat just as Chuck is breathing out, and he merely rolls his shoulders for comfort, eyes widening just slightly with the subconscious knowledge that he just swallowed something of his.
He wants to stay there, like that, for a while, watching the skin on the top of Chuck's cheeks flush, darkening the dust across his nose; the times and speed he blinks, and how his pupils suddenly widen just a little.
Mike could say that he knows Chuck's face like the back of his hand, but that would be a lie. He doesn't know the back of his hands as well: he never really looked at them closely, nor spent so much time watching them.
He tilts his head, watching him react to absolutely nothing, and everything caused by dead-on proximity, what it brings and what it takes away. Mike's trying to figure out his own reactions to that, but he doesn't stop looking, eyes drifting from the plane of his forehead to the grove of Chuck's chin, just below his lower lip.]
[Chuck settles his eyes on Mike's still, mostly because he's stuck. Like they drove to this one moment, to this exact second, and then they hit the breaks, they pressed the pause button and they can't do anything but linger their sight and their breath on the other.
He watches the wrinkles around Mike's eyes tense and expand, watches as they reveal themselves with every shift of Mike's gaze, and when it lowers to that curve in his jaw, and before Chuck can help himself, he's licking his own lips nervously, leaving them barely parted.
He feels his own body tense up again, shoulders riding up the sheets and hands clasped one over the other in an awkward hold over his chest. He doesn't dare move more than that, even though he feels the urge to, the urge to lean closer and snake his fingers around Mike's neck, bringing their breaths and their skins closer together.]
[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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Yeah, it was kind of awesome. But lucky it didn't go south. Guess the reinforced body really was a good idea for Stronghorn.
[And it had been Texas's idea too (though not in those words exactly, more in the lines of making it manly, strong and hard on the outside). Go figure.]
no subject
[It's true. Mike's well-aware that if it weren't for their hard work in continuously making their cars stronger, faster and more efficient, there wouldn't be any Burner left. It's one of the reasons he never gets tired of thanking and complimenting them. He's just that thankful that no matter all the crazy stunts they [he] pull[s], no matter how many times their hard work ends up in a complete wreck, they're still there to build everything all up again, with even better new features.]
no subject
[He doesn't try to swat Mike's hands away, even as he scrunches his nose with a muffled whine. But after Mike's done messing with his hair, he combs it back again. He knows what it'd look like next morning if he'd let it dry like it was.]
no subject
[He doesn't really want to sleep though. He should, but he's still inwardly thrumming, like a car on hold.]
no subject
[He grins at his own joke, and reaches over to pat the bobblehead one last time. It's not difficult to reach, Chuck's arms are long and he barely has to shift from his place to make it.] Good night, puppy.
no subject
[And for old times' sake, he leans in to kiss his cheek. May as well.]
no subject
He tilts his head just a little, so that he can feel his own nose brushing, first, then pressing against Mike's cheek, and he breathes out any tension he had accumulated in his shoulders for that brief moment just then.] 'night, Mikey.
no subject
He knows it's not, though, because he's focused on how one of Chuck's freckles isn't a freckle but a light mole by his ear. He's never been one to fool himself. He took whatever came to him and rolled with it, even if those were well-aimed punches or...
a sudden need to hold his best friend tight against him for the entirely wrong [wrong? why wrong?] reasons.
He wants to tilt his head and nuzzle him further until his head turns, until he presses fully against him, until he nips at the earlobe that barely peeks from under Chuck's mane--
He takes a deep, slow and silent breath.]
no subject
But he doesn't move. His breath shakes its way out of him, and his face burns like a curtain of fire rushing across his skin, but he doesn't move. Whether in a show of fear, courage or pure instinct, maybe all of them mashed together, he doesn't know, but he's there, and it's unaware and at the same time relentless the way he chooses not to move away.
And he waits.]
no subject
He wants to stay there, like that, for a while, watching the skin on the top of Chuck's cheeks flush, darkening the dust across his nose; the times and speed he blinks, and how his pupils suddenly widen just a little.
Mike could say that he knows Chuck's face like the back of his hand, but that would be a lie. He doesn't know the back of his hands as well: he never really looked at them closely, nor spent so much time watching them.
He tilts his head, watching him react to absolutely nothing, and everything caused by dead-on proximity, what it brings and what it takes away. Mike's trying to figure out his own reactions to that, but he doesn't stop looking, eyes drifting from the plane of his forehead to the grove of Chuck's chin, just below his lower lip.]
no subject
He watches the wrinkles around Mike's eyes tense and expand, watches as they reveal themselves with every shift of Mike's gaze, and when it lowers to that curve in his jaw, and before Chuck can help himself, he's licking his own lips nervously, leaving them barely parted.
He feels his own body tense up again, shoulders riding up the sheets and hands clasped one over the other in an awkward hold over his chest. He doesn't dare move more than that, even though he feels the urge to, the urge to lean closer and snake his fingers around Mike's neck, bringing their breaths and their skins closer together.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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...
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)