[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.]
[Chuck complies, a bit of a mess of limbs as he hikes his legs up, spreads his knees farther apart to urge Mike to draw closer, fit against him with the weight of the gravity when they're on free fall, a pressure that almost knocks the air entirely out of his lungs. The breath falters but it's the only thing choking and hesitating just then, all of Chuck reaching for this like it's his lifeline, heart thrumming a rhythm that Chuck isn't too keen on following.
His hand resting on Mike's side resumes a comfortable position underneath the fabric covering Mike's back, traveling upwards and hiking the shirt along in the process until he's pressing the tips of his fingers between Mike's shoulder blades, and the other hand promptly curling around the soft hair and pulling him back into an open-mouthed kiss again, hot and too eager, a moan against his lips just before it breaks off and half of it gets lost inside Mike's mouth.]
[It rattles through him, the breath that escapes both of them, the jab on his hip at Chuck's hipbone digging into him over the hem of his shorts, the mere fact that he just wouldn't care or complain and pulled Mike for another kiss as if he needed him to breathe.
His thumb slips to the soft spot under his jaw and feels his pulse hitting against the pad faster than the fastest pistons and it's there that it strikes him just how much both need each other, to the point of public outrage and yet back to the natural essence of their lives, always brushing, moving in the same direction. He kisses Chuck messily, first a kiss on the corner of his mouth, then suckling on his upper lip, then trying to catch both at once, tugging at the lower lip with his teeth, and he sighs through his nose sharply as he wants to crawl even closer--
he stops, groaning at the friction between their bodies as he rolls his hips into him as he pulls his knee higher to the side, gasping with his nose still buried on Chuck's cheek. Eyes fluttering close and shivering, he's almost afraid of repeating it, except he goes for it - it's what he does - swallowing hard before he grinds his hips slowly, moving the arm under them, which was beginning to grow numb but had yet to lose any strength, to rest at the small of Chuck's back and angle his body towards the motion.]
[Chuck needs little guidance or incentive, because at the first rocking of Mike's hips, he's arching closer, muscles shaking underneath the skin. He lolls his head back onto the pillow, not bothering to close his mouth while he both gasps for air and groans out a string of nothings.
At the same time, his hands cling to Mike just as tightly as his legs, that now lock around Mike's waist and tug him closer with every motion, Chuck himself finding a way to roll his hips upwards to meet Mike's, some frustration but still some relief apparent in the way he sighs and whines every time he feels Mike's arousal pulsing against his own, even through their boxers, only driving him to want to be closer, to push farther [further], to cling tighter.
So he does, he clings until he can feel his fingers turn white from their presence against Mike's skin, and somewhere in the far corner of his mind he really wishes he'd taken the time to get Mike out of that shirt first. But then again, it's not like they had been planning any of this. Like most times when it came to them, it's just something that started, a natural occurrence that neither of them would have really thought about not going through with. Most would call it a whim; Chuck prefers the term inevitability.]
[Mike's a little transfixed by the angle of Chuck's chin as he arches his neck, pushes his shoulders back as he arches back into him, still managing to cling onto him. The fingers on his back start to ache and prickle his skin, but he doesn't mind that at all, only adds a spike to the spark of pleasure hitting his chest and the back of his throat when he pushes forward, then pulls back.
He finds himself wanting to do several things at once. Jump onto his knees, hike Chuck's shirt up and nip up the dent from his bellybutton to the grove between his collarbones. Reach between them and wrap his hand around his cock, bringing the relief that he craves for even faster. Keep kissing him until he needs to push him away to breathe. Turn them around so that he could see him grapple and scramble to pull his weight up while Mike messed with his senses. Just thinking about it is making his boxers even more uncomfortable and damp than they already are.
But as he is, syncing the motions of his hips with the sounds coming out of Chuck's lips, replying with some of his own, he can't help but burrow his face against his neck, kiss the sandy spots here and there - he's not really looking but they're so many he's sure he's hitting some, at least - and whisper Chuck's name against it.]
[Curious how most of those scenarios seem to run through Chuck's mind, even if only for the split second before Mike leans closer and presses his lips to Chuck's skin. His shoulders tense, but he likes it, even if the muscles seem to twitch away from the soft contact. He fists his hands on the hem of the shirt, that by now is almost past Mike's shoulders, and he figures he'd rather not have it there anymore.
Through loud breaths and soft noises, he can take the needed break to try and tug it over Mike's head, or at least hope that the pulling is enough for Mike to understand what he's trying to do. Hope that Mike will let go of him for just one second, sit back, let Chuck pull the shirt off the rest of the way. He loses some of the rhythm in his motions in the process, but it only makes him roll his hips harder each time, trying to compensate for the fact they just lost each other for a moment there.]
[It doesn't help much. He knows what Chuck is trying to do, but he doesn't want to feel the cold air against him when he has Chuck slowly burning beneath his skin. That the movement of his body is turning sharper doesn't help with the idea that he wants to pull himself closer, not farther, and at the beginning he's holding Chuck just a little tighter, groaning against the corner of his jaw.
Still, he would be berating himself later if he didn't manage to do that simple favor. He pulls away, kissing the tip of his nose just a little, bringing his other knee up so he could sit back on his heels.
... his shirt really was a mess by then. With all the motion of Chuck's hands on his back, he had barely noticed it was bare.
He shivers through his smile, tugs at his shirt, wanting Chuck to sit up so the air won't seem so cold. C'mere, Chuckles.]
[Chuck doesn't need that tug, because as soon as Mike's heat slips away from his personal space, to somewhere Chuck's skin can't sense it and the cold air sweeps its way up Chuck's torso and arms, he's struggling to follow, to get up, arms reaching for shoulders and legs flailing for a little longer than Chuck's comfortable with until he manages to fold them and sit up on his knees, straddling Mike.]
Sorry. [He smiles sheepishly when his knee almost hits Mike on his side with all that struggle, and when he sits up on his knees he ends up bumping himself against Mike with a breathless groan. He quickly pulls away to tug Mike's shirt the rest of the way, throws it aside without even looking because he much prefers looking at Mike, eyes roaming down his chest and navel - thankfully hidden behind his long hair -, he licks his lips, then rests his hands over the warm skin.]
[That he can't see Chuck's eyes really does nothing for him, in the sense that he knows he's looking and running the tip of his tongue over his lips, pressing his hands to him. It's flattering, and a little surprising - they've shared so much time together in which they were almost or pretty much naked, it should've been second nature - to see Chuck so intense about Mike's own body. But then again, he understands: He wants to do the same to Chuck, wants to brush against him skin on skin, look closely at which is a freckle and which is a mole, where hair lies and doesn't, how exactly each muscle twitches at every motion. The mere weight of his hands on him makes him exhale deeply, the pressure on his lap makes him shift for comfort and discomfort at the very same time.
He wants to kiss him, but that'll interrupt his sightseeing. And his own session can wait because he wants to watch Chuck just as much, and he needs to give the programmer room for that. He leans his forehead against Chuck's, and waits patiently over the thrum of his own body telling him to tackle him back to the mattress.
The only indication of his impatience is exposed in his fingers, running up his thighs, slipping them underneath the leg of his boxers, thumb sliding over the inner crease where it meets the rest of his body and sliding back.]
[Mike's hands cause Chuck's attention to derail; not that it was so important, because he's still sliding his hands down Mike's torso, one thumb hovering just below the navel. The difference now is that the tips of his fingers curl a little, press and dig into the skin as he props himself up on his knees, slides up Mike's lap and rolls his hips towards that touch. The feeling shakes its way up Chuck's throat and cuts his breath short, so much so that he doesn't even make a sound in response.
Forehead still resting against Mike's, he tilts his chin up so that their noses are bumping into one another, mouth open and lip ghosting over the skin right above Mike's mouth. He takes a break in many ways right now, he doesn't know what he wants to say or do, what he knows is that he wants, he needs Mike to do that again. That, or something like it, something that will make his spine crawl and his body arch, and at the same time he longs to reach, to cause if only a fraction of these reactions on Mike too, wonders what noises he would make if Chuck just slid his fingers lower, passed the elastic band of the boxers--
He takes a deep breath. His voice is probably a little shallow, but he mutters anyway.] ... keep going.
[He grins, nuzzles beside Chuck's nose as he tilts his head up into him. His own lips part at the motion of Chuck's hips - it's only one of the most arousing things Mike has ever felt or seen, after all. His own thighs move and grind against the weight over them, just for the sake of friction, for the sudden need of it.
So he does, of course he does keep going, bites his lower lip as he focuses, eyes stuck on Chuck's face as he keeps going. He slips his fingers underneath those boxers and slides them over the outer side of Chuck's thighs, circles around the spot where those stop being thighs and start being hips [and he never really knows where that is exactly] and moves down to his knees.
Then he slides his hands higher again, over the softer expanse of his inner thighs, where there wasn't as much hair, but he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. Flicks his thumbs through the fold over his limbs to his crotch. There's not a moment of hesitation because Mike is going at it and he won't stop, knows it would be torture to do so. So he reaches his left hand for Chuck's hard-on straining against the slit of his boxers, palms it softly before wrapping his fingers around it.]
[Whatever Mike does, or however slow or fast, Chuck waits, still but impatiently so, only revealed in the way he bites the inside of his cheek and keeps moving his own hands, roaming up Mike's chest again and settling on his shoulders. Just in time too, because then Mike's so close that he can feel his nerves tingling even before he touches, before he feels the calluses when he wraps his hand around him.
Chuck's sure Mike reached for something else just then. He rolls his hips towards the touch, kneads his fingers against Mike's shoulders and clings down to them tightly, his entire body trembling as he moans loudly, a guttural undefined sound even as right now the only thing on his mind is Mike. He's sure there was something else Mike wrapped himself around, something like Chuck's restlessness, or the tension and the headache he sometimes let pile up on himself for a few too many days, and he feels Mike yanking it all out of him with just one move. It causes his shoulders to relax visibly with a noisy sigh, and he closes his eyes, letting his mind swim in the sensations.]
[He hums, breathes out in empathy, finding his own thrill on Chuck's reaction, in the expression of his face, the skin stretching and relaxing as a moan brushes over his cheek, in how his own skin prickles at the tight grip on his shoulders.
Mike enjoys this more than anything. More than the antsy antics he pulls when he teases him with touches and breaths. More than the hitch at a look before a kiss. He appreciates how Chuck's mind's usually the fastest, the most active, ready and sharp all the time.
But he really loves that he just managed to shut it down.
And that's why there's a hint of a smile on his half-lidded eyes as he keeps nuzzling across his brow, around his temple, and he starts twisting his hand, stroking with a tighter clench of his hand around the edge before he slides back down, switching maneuvers and wrapping two fingers around the head after, twitching shallowly.]
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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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His hand resting on Mike's side resumes a comfortable position underneath the fabric covering Mike's back, traveling upwards and hiking the shirt along in the process until he's pressing the tips of his fingers between Mike's shoulder blades, and the other hand promptly curling around the soft hair and pulling him back into an open-mouthed kiss again, hot and too eager, a moan against his lips just before it breaks off and half of it gets lost inside Mike's mouth.]
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His thumb slips to the soft spot under his jaw and feels his pulse hitting against the pad faster than the fastest pistons and it's there that it strikes him just how much both need each other, to the point of public outrage and yet back to the natural essence of their lives, always brushing, moving in the same direction. He kisses Chuck messily, first a kiss on the corner of his mouth, then suckling on his upper lip, then trying to catch both at once, tugging at the lower lip with his teeth, and he sighs through his nose sharply as he wants to crawl even closer--
he stops, groaning at the friction between their bodies as he rolls his hips into him as he pulls his knee higher to the side, gasping with his nose still buried on Chuck's cheek. Eyes fluttering close and shivering, he's almost afraid of repeating it, except he goes for it - it's what he does - swallowing hard before he grinds his hips slowly, moving the arm under them, which was beginning to grow numb but had yet to lose any strength, to rest at the small of Chuck's back and angle his body towards the motion.]
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At the same time, his hands cling to Mike just as tightly as his legs, that now lock around Mike's waist and tug him closer with every motion, Chuck himself finding a way to roll his hips upwards to meet Mike's, some frustration but still some relief apparent in the way he sighs and whines every time he feels Mike's arousal pulsing against his own, even through their boxers, only driving him to want to be closer, to push farther [further], to cling tighter.
So he does, he clings until he can feel his fingers turn white from their presence against Mike's skin, and somewhere in the far corner of his mind he really wishes he'd taken the time to get Mike out of that shirt first. But then again, it's not like they had been planning any of this. Like most times when it came to them, it's just something that started, a natural occurrence that neither of them would have really thought about not going through with. Most would call it a whim; Chuck prefers the term inevitability.]
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He finds himself wanting to do several things at once. Jump onto his knees, hike Chuck's shirt up and nip up the dent from his bellybutton to the grove between his collarbones. Reach between them and wrap his hand around his cock, bringing the relief that he craves for even faster. Keep kissing him until he needs to push him away to breathe. Turn them around so that he could see him grapple and scramble to pull his weight up while Mike messed with his senses. Just thinking about it is making his boxers even more uncomfortable and damp than they already are.
But as he is, syncing the motions of his hips with the sounds coming out of Chuck's lips, replying with some of his own, he can't help but burrow his face against his neck, kiss the sandy spots here and there - he's not really looking but they're so many he's sure he's hitting some, at least - and whisper Chuck's name against it.]
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Through loud breaths and soft noises, he can take the needed break to try and tug it over Mike's head, or at least hope that the pulling is enough for Mike to understand what he's trying to do. Hope that Mike will let go of him for just one second, sit back, let Chuck pull the shirt off the rest of the way. He loses some of the rhythm in his motions in the process, but it only makes him roll his hips harder each time, trying to compensate for the fact they just lost each other for a moment there.]
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Still, he would be berating himself later if he didn't manage to do that simple favor. He pulls away, kissing the tip of his nose just a little, bringing his other knee up so he could sit back on his heels.
... his shirt really was a mess by then. With all the motion of Chuck's hands on his back, he had barely noticed it was bare.
He shivers through his smile, tugs at his shirt, wanting Chuck to sit up so the air won't seem so cold. C'mere, Chuckles.]
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Sorry. [He smiles sheepishly when his knee almost hits Mike on his side with all that struggle, and when he sits up on his knees he ends up bumping himself against Mike with a breathless groan. He quickly pulls away to tug Mike's shirt the rest of the way, throws it aside without even looking because he much prefers looking at Mike, eyes roaming down his chest and navel - thankfully hidden behind his long hair -, he licks his lips, then rests his hands over the warm skin.]
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He wants to kiss him, but that'll interrupt his sightseeing. And his own session can wait because he wants to watch Chuck just as much, and he needs to give the programmer room for that. He leans his forehead against Chuck's, and waits patiently over the thrum of his own body telling him to tackle him back to the mattress.
The only indication of his impatience is exposed in his fingers, running up his thighs, slipping them underneath the leg of his boxers, thumb sliding over the inner crease where it meets the rest of his body and sliding back.]
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Forehead still resting against Mike's, he tilts his chin up so that their noses are bumping into one another, mouth open and lip ghosting over the skin right above Mike's mouth. He takes a break in many ways right now, he doesn't know what he wants to say or do, what he knows is that he wants, he needs Mike to do that again. That, or something like it, something that will make his spine crawl and his body arch, and at the same time he longs to reach, to cause if only a fraction of these reactions on Mike too, wonders what noises he would make if Chuck just slid his fingers lower, passed the elastic band of the boxers--
He takes a deep breath. His voice is probably a little shallow, but he mutters anyway.] ... keep going.
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So he does, of course he does keep going, bites his lower lip as he focuses, eyes stuck on Chuck's face as he keeps going. He slips his fingers underneath those boxers and slides them over the outer side of Chuck's thighs, circles around the spot where those stop being thighs and start being hips [and he never really knows where that is exactly] and moves down to his knees.
Then he slides his hands higher again, over the softer expanse of his inner thighs, where there wasn't as much hair, but he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. Flicks his thumbs through the fold over his limbs to his crotch. There's not a moment of hesitation because Mike is going at it and he won't stop, knows it would be torture to do so. So he reaches his left hand for Chuck's hard-on straining against the slit of his boxers, palms it softly before wrapping his fingers around it.]
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Chuck's sure Mike reached for something else just then. He rolls his hips towards the touch, kneads his fingers against Mike's shoulders and clings down to them tightly, his entire body trembling as he moans loudly, a guttural undefined sound even as right now the only thing on his mind is Mike. He's sure there was something else Mike wrapped himself around, something like Chuck's restlessness, or the tension and the headache he sometimes let pile up on himself for a few too many days, and he feels Mike yanking it all out of him with just one move. It causes his shoulders to relax visibly with a noisy sigh, and he closes his eyes, letting his mind swim in the sensations.]
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Mike enjoys this more than anything. More than the antsy antics he pulls when he teases him with touches and breaths. More than the hitch at a look before a kiss. He appreciates how Chuck's mind's usually the fastest, the most active, ready and sharp all the time.
But he really loves that he just managed to shut it down.
And that's why there's a hint of a smile on his half-lidded eyes as he keeps nuzzling across his brow, around his temple, and he starts twisting his hand, stroking with a tighter clench of his hand around the edge before he slides back down, switching maneuvers and wrapping two fingers around the head after, twitching shallowly.]
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